


Choking On Their Halos

by PlatinumAndPercocet



Category: Bandom, Cobra Starship, Fall Out Boy, Mindless Self Indulgence, My Chemical Romance, Panic! at the Disco, The Academy Is...
Genre: Alternate Universe, BDSM, Ballet, Blood, Collars, Dominant Patrick, Exhibitionism, F/M, Families of Choice, Flogging, Horse Play, Kink Negotiation, Las Vegas, M/M, Mirrors, Multi, Music Is So Important, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, POV First Person, Polyamory, Power Exchange, Puppy Play, Safe Sane and Consensual, Sex, So Many Cameos, Training, Uniforms, Violet Wand, Voyeurism, goddamn politicians, ropes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-18
Updated: 2018-01-19
Packaged: 2018-12-16 18:56:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 50
Words: 184,772
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11834949
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PlatinumAndPercocet/pseuds/PlatinumAndPercocet
Summary: How far would you go to find that missing piece of yourself, even if you never knew what shape it was? Would you be willing to risk everything?





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Flames_and_Jade](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Flames_and_Jade/gifts).



> Well, another outing from me. Are you seeing a theme here? This one is going to be a bit slower build than most of my work, simply by virtue of the fact that I have a lot of work ahead of me. It may take a bit for those familiar faces y'all know and love to appear. This is something I have been working on for nearly two years, although it will be undergoing some very hefty transformations very shortly. It is like remodeling a house. It has great supports but a whole lot of changes need ro be made from the original structure. Stick with me kids.  
> This is for the amazing Flames_And_Jade 's birthday. It is not what was planned, but I think it works. I hope. It may seem familiar at first, but I promise it will change. Honest. Happy belated birthday, my friend. 
> 
> Another special shout out to SnitchesAndTalkers because she is AMAZING and listens to me babble for HOURS. 
> 
> This has not been betaed so all mistakes, and I am sure there are many, are mine and mine alone. 
> 
> Like it? Hate it? Have a question? All are welcome through comments, kudos and whatnot. Truly, I love hearing what you all think, it makes me smile like a hillbilly that just stumbled into Daddy's meth lab. 
> 
> Thank you, as always, for taking the time out of your busy lives to entertain my flights of fancy.

“Thank you so much.” My voice was smooth as Tupelo honey over gravel as I accepted the delivery, although judging from both his expression and the hardly veiled scent of pot that seemed to be seeping from his pores, the brown clad delivery boy probably couldn’t tell it was false. Beneath the brown cap and greasy bangs, his eyes were nearly all pupil, the black rimmed with the slightest hint of brown.

“Yeah, you’re welcome, lady.” His words were garbled, the four words somehow forming one long syllable before he turned around and headed for the stairs. I could hear the thwack of boots on the plastic stair covers for just a moment before the stream of obscenities and the sound of flesh against stairs was muffled by the slamming of my door and the reassuring sound of three locks clicking into place. The apartment was cold and clean, the sounds of central air humming away formed a perfect symphony with the string quartet that flowed from the speakers. My bare feet were silent on plush carpet as I headed towards the living room, the green tissue wrapped parcel weighing heavily in my hands. I could already smell the sickly sweet scent of roses and I hadn’t even unwrapped them yet. Setting the vase down with a soft clink on the glass coffee table, I plucked the ivory card from it’s envelope and slid my finger under the tab to open it.

“ Fuck.” The curse was low as the thick paper sliced through the pad of my index finger, tumbling to the floor as a bead of bright red welled up. I watched, transfixed as it glistened in the low light, slowly slipping down my finger before falling perfectly to the floor. The red stood out, bright and vibrant against the soft cream carpet. I could hear Kitty's accented voice in my head, ordering me to get cold water on it immediately or else it would set. The Russian housekeeper, as much as I loved her, was across the country at the moment, no doubt polishing the silver from my parent’s antique banquet table, humming under her breath as she buffed and shined each piece in turn. I’d witnessed it so many times that I could close my eyes and be transported there: could almost smell the furniture polish that had been used on the rich mahogany table. If I concentrated enough I could hear the gentle clink of china and crystal as each place was set just so. My parents always made sure everything was picture perfect, from top to bottom, in every aspect of their lives and I was no exception. They hadn’t wanted a daughter, they had wanted a doll, and they got one. A pretty blonde music box ballerina who never talked back and always smiled in pictures. 

Shaking my head to clear the fog that had formed, I banished the thoughts, at least for the moment, and bent down to retrieve the card, pulling it from the envelope. Popping my cut finger in my mouth, I smiled just slightly at the taste of salt and copper while I sucked gently to get it to stop bleeding and turned my attention to the small square in my hand. The cardstock was heavy and beautiful, embossed at the top with my father’s initials, the very definition of masculine elegance that formed an almost jarring contrast to the delicate, swirling black ink that filled the blank space. ‘Charleigh ~ Happy Birthday, Cricket! So sorry we couldn’t make it, you know how election year can be. Love, Mom and Dad’. I chortled in disgust and balled up my fist, crushing the card between my fingers. The message was one that I had seen variations of for years, although Senator and District Attorney Gabriel usually took the time to actually sign the cards themselves. Not so much this year. My father’s secretary-cum-flavor of the year’s writing was instantly recognizable although indistinguishable from the parade of pretty young things in tight suits and heels that had come before her. 

Turning my attention back to the arrangement that sat on the table, I pulled free the green tissue paper and my eyes began to water. Fuck. The roses were gorgeous, breathtaking, in the most literal sense, at least three dozen in every shade from crimson through palest pink, standing tall in a crystal vase and trimmed with shiny green leaves. I could feel the tickle in my throat as I leaned back into the fluffy cushions of my couch and had a seeming face off with the offending flora. My eyes welled up, itchy and no doubt nearing a lovely state of red as I jolted with a sneeze, blonde hair falling in front of my eyes. Pulling the sleeves of my wrap sweater over my hands, I push myself up and gather the offending flowers with cashmere covered hands. I crossed to the kitchen and down the short hall to the spare bedroom. Well, what would have been one anyway. A ballet barre was set up along the far wall and I ignored my reflection in the mirrored closet doors as I slid open the window and dropped the roses out watching with more than a bit of genuine satisfaction as they floated down into courtyard, eliciting a squeal of delight from a tiny redheaded moppet. Judging by the cacophony of jewel colored chalk covering the cobblestones, she had spent her entire morning turning the space into a juvenile twist on stained glass. Her laughter was contagious as she danced through the petals, tossing them up in the air as she twirled. I felt like I was spying as I watched her and dropped my gaze before shutting the window. I needed to get out of here. Shrugging my arms from my sweater, I tugged it off and tossed it into the laundry room, smiling as the pale garment landed in the washer.

Ducking into my room, I pulled a nearly identical sweater from the closet, wrapping the black ties tightly around my waist before stepping into a pair of shiny black flats. My keys and wallet went into a back pocket and my readers were swapped out for a dark pair of sunglasses as I headed for the door. I stopped dead in my tracks, my eyes trained to that spot on the carpet. The blood was still bright red; vibrant, violent and passionate. I barely suppressed the shiver that ran down my spine as I recalled the sting as my skin opened and the near hypnotizing moment as I watched the blood slip to the floor. Pulling my lip tightly between my teeth, I shoved my earbuds in and headed out the door, turning the volume up until the screamed lyrics drowned out the thoughts that swirled in my mind.

The strip was crowded as always, with throngs of people from every walk of life. I couldn’t think of another place in the world where you could see a bachelorette party, all bright satin and glowing penis necklaces talking with street preachers whom, between fire and brimstone, offered great rates on quickie weddings. Men in three piece suits that cost more than my car walked next to gamblers who had nothing but lint and cigarette buts in their pockets. Sin City was perhaps the most apt nickname that could have been given, as nearly every available vice was presented on a silver platter. All seven deadly sins, served up with a smile and a shimmy, twenty four hours a day. 

It was another world, in every sense of the word from everything I knew. Boston, while a bustling city in it’s own right, was also steeped in history and refinement from the cobblestone streets to the towering Prudential building and the ivy covered, hallowed halls of MIT and Harvard, just outside of city limits in Cambridge. It had been my home for the first twenty-two years of my life, my father’s family having come over on the Mayflower, a fact that he never failed to mention in his numerous campaign videos. Also mentioned in those ads were the importance of family, a solid Christian foundation and a love of hard work. Somehow, the affairs never made it out, although I have no idea how. Even when I was a teenager, they were glaringly obvious but somehow, the pepsodent smile and perfect family managed to fool the public. Church on Sunday, A district-attorney wife and ballerina daughter created such a perfect slice of upper class America that not even the hint of scandal could come close to crumbling it. 

My coming to Vegas to pursue my doctorate had very nearly come close however. The choice to move across the country to Las Vegas, of all places had nearly caused an uproar, although I had told them both of my plans in public, more to ease potential fallout than anything else. Senator Gabriel could never stand a spectacle, unless it was a good one. When I had made the announcement at dinner after my college graduation, the only outward sign of displeasure was a narrowing of eyes and a quick order of a second Glenfiddich. The inevitable fallout happened at home, behind iron gates and heavy oak doors. My mother, despite having lived in Boston for nearly three decades, had reverted to her Georgia roots and swooned onto the creaky leather of the couch in my father’s home office as he bellowed about prostitutes, gamblers, gypsies, tramps and thieves. Precisely the reasons I wanted to go, although I didn’t say as much. I didn’t say anything, not that day. I sat, motionless, staring at the shelf of photos that lined the wall. They were arranged in chronological order and telling a very intentional story without being ostentatious. My parents graduating from Harvard law, wedding portraits, a tiny bundle wrapped in pink… the photos went on through the last two and a half decades, chronicling milestones and victories, everything that makes up the good life condensed into a dozen moments in time. 

One photo held my attention though although I had never paid much attention to it before this moment. It was a candid shot, captured mid- pirouette. I was little, maybe six, dressed in a black leotard and pink tights, a pink tutu and ballet slippers rounding out my ensemble. It was my hair that had caught my eyes though. Instead of being secured in a tight bun, the long, golden waves flew out from my tiny shoulders like a cape, my arms high above my head, hands soft even at the young age. The little girl in that picture looked so free; there was glee radiating on her tiny face. It had been a long time since I had felt that way and I ached to be there again. I had left for Vegas the next day, with three suitcases and a backpack. I hadn’t been back since and I felt better than I had in years. There was still something missing though, some piece that I wasn’t able to see, much less find although it was always there, just below the surface, whispered words that faded into the air like that sweet ether that exists between sleep and consciousness. 

A sharp slam into my shoulder yanked me from my thoughts and before I could register what was happening, I was flat on my ass in the middle of the sidewalk, blinking in a daze at the knees of the crowd that passed, not a single person stilling. It was kind of perfect. I wiped my palms on my jeans and pushed my hair from my eyes before putting my hands back on the filthy ground and pushing myself up. 

My palms stung and I could see fine lines of red criss-crossing the pale skin. Glancing back up, I turned my head in a vain effort to figure out where exactly I was. I had been so lost in my thoughts, the music in my ears so loud, that I hadn’t realized exactly how far I had gone. I was still in a good part of the city, the sparkling lights and expensive cars alone told me that but I had no clue WHERE exactly that was. I walked just a bit further, singing softly to the music that was still blasting in my ears when I came to a dead stop. Everything went hazy for a moment before it snapped back into stunning, jarring focus. The color was so deep it was almost disconcerting even against the flashing lights and glitter of Vegas. Red. The color of passion, fire and lust. The color of blood. A color that I had always shied away from, preferring to fade into the background. The lacquer on the doors was simple and rich, almost gleaming. An offhand remark from one of my advisors flickered through my mind. I hadn’t paid it much heed in the moment, in a sense dismissing it as a part of a larger conversation on the BDSM community in the area as part of an advisory session for my dissertation but suddenly it clicked into place. My fingers twitched and I wanted nothing more than to see what was on the other side of those doors. I needed to. That missing piece, the one I had never even been able to see was there, somehow, behind them. And I would. I didn’t have the slightest clue how, but I would. 

 

I slept fitfully, dozing for brief spells on the couch, waking several times with a start only to train blurry eyes on some blonde infomercial host hawking a blender that poached eggs and did quantum physics or something of the sort. Each time my eyes opened, I expected to see sunlight pouring through the blinds but that never happened. Instead, filled with nervous energy, I watched the sunrise from my tiny balcony as I sipped a delectable cup of tea, the lively fruit flavor kissed by honey and cream. My stomach was on the verge of revolting but I nibbled a fresh scone from the bakery down the way anyway, delighting in the crisp crust and warm, rich interior. It was all over too soon and by the time the sky was streaked with orange and pink, the dusky lavender and black of night nearly fading away, I was dressed and ready to go. 

It was beyond ridiculous and I knew it but those doors, the questions that hid behind them haunted me. I was nearly jumping out of my skin and my foot twitched as I sat on the couch, eyes fixated on the clock, willing the black arms to move faster. It just needed to be eight. That would give me enough time to get to the university and be knocking on an office door at a somewhat respectable hour. 

It was seventeen minutes till when I screwed the top on my travel mug and slipped my sunglasses on before heading out the door. There were so many things I could be doing, SHOULD be doing but nothing seemed as important as this at the moment. 

The drive seemed to take hours, traffic slowing to a crawl and I passed the time singing along to the music that poured out of my speakers. The irony of the lyrics were not lost on me and I received more than my fair share of looks from my fellow travelers. 

I finally walked through the doors of the stately brick building at nine thirty-seven and headed straight to Doctor Armstrong’s office, my head down and eyes trained on my black cap toe flats, pausing only once along the way to buff out a scuff on the leg of my jeans. 

My hand nearly trembled as I tapped my knuckles lightly against the frosted glass of the door, square in the center of the bold script that announced the occupant's name and a veritable alphabet of designations after it. 

“Enter.” The voice was gruff and the words blunt but inviting, although some who did not know the man would not have known as much. I turned the knob, cold under my hand, slowly and popped my head in the space created to be greeted with a warm smile and blue eyes that twinkled behind small glasses. 

“Miss Gabriel, what can I do for you today?” My throat was suddenly dry and my fingers found their way into my hair, twisting nervously at the ends.* I was wondering… that is… you had said once… Can you tell me about Flame? *The words were stilted at first, halting and awkward, and then they just poured out and I stood, slightly shell-shocked at my own ridiculousness. The man behind the large desk was quiet for a moment, regarding me with pale eyes that had hidden depths to them. He slipped his glasses off and laid them atop a sheaf papers. 

“Close the door, Miss Gabriel.” And I did. 

I sat in the stiff chair across from one of my mentors for the better part of five hours without moving, my gaze fixed. I found myself asking questions and receiving answers, to both the outright questions and those that lay just below the surface, my mind whirling with so very many more. When I finally stood, my bones protested for a moment and I stretched my arms high above my head, my spine clicking with a series of contented pops. 

“Thank you Doctor Armstrong.” My voice was quiet, even more so than usual, the husky timbre only magnified by the time I had sat in silence while phone calls were made and e-mails traded. 

“You are very welcome, Miss Gabriel. And I wish you good luck. I have a feeling you will find exactly what you are looking for.” There was a hint of a smile at his words, a light behind his kind eyes that I had never noticed before, just for a fraction of a second, and then it was gone again, the gruff, professional demeanor slipping back into place. I didn’t say a word, simply closed the door behind me and headed out. 

It had started to storm while I had been tucked away in the office, the sky had changed from sun to heavy, steel grey, shot through with streaks of lightening as thunder boomed overhead. The rain was cold and stung against my heated skin as I stepped out into it, tilting my face up into the deluge, my eyes closed, the pelting droplets soaking me instantly. I finally opened my eyes, pulling myself out of my stupor and headed back to my car, hair plastered against my cheeks and a slim, magnetic card in my pocket that would prove to unlock more than just my mind..

 

Time passed slowly, almost excruciatingly so as the afternoon progressed. The drive back to my apartment took significantly less time that the journey from it, despite the weather. Or maybe because of it. It was perfect, to me, and I drove the entire route with my window down, the sights, sounds and smells of the city mingling with that of the storm to create an enticing although over stimulating atmosphere. There was a literal charge in the air, in the form of the blue-white streaks of lightning that crisscrossed the skies, almost hypnotizing in their intensity. 

I loved storms of all kinds, I always had. When I was a child I would sit on the window seat of my bedroom, the white and yellow chintz pillow covered with china dolls, their perfect curls and frilly gowns all arranged just so, and we all watched the storms. The Nor’Easters were my favorite, the swirling snowflakes sparkling in the yellow light of the street lamps as it fluttered to collect in drifts on the ground. The entire city looked as though it was cloaked in a warm blanket, even if it was exactly the opposite. 

As I grew, my appreciation of the storms never faltered and as old as eighteen, provided I was home, I could still be found on the same window seat, although the dolls had long since been relegated to the shelves that lined the room and books sat stacked in their place. It was hypnotizing for me, and it always felt like home in some way, even if I was the only one in the house. The year I was sixteen, just after I had finished my high school classes, my parents were in Washington for a function at The White House. I was in rehearsals for The Nutcracker at The Wang Center so I stayed home with Kitty. 

The storm blew in off the Atlantic with little warning, bringing with it over twenty four inches of snow in eighteen hours. Roads were closed, states of emergency declared; it was a worse than The Red Sox losing the world series. Almost. The storm also brought thunder and lightening which hypnotized me as soon as I heard it. I can still hear Kitty’s voice yelling at me as I dashed out the front door with a pea coat on over my flannel pajamas, bare feet stuck haphazardly into a pair of duck boots and my hair flying everywhere in the wind. 

I had walked the silent streets for nearly an hour that night, not fully dressed, my hair frozen to my cheeks that ached not from the cold but from the smile that I could not shake. I kept my head back nearly the entire walk, watching in awe as the lightening reflected off of the falling snow, seeming to set the crystals nearly alight. It was magical. Less magical, however, was the swat with a wooden spoon I received from Kitty once I got home. I never feared my parents as much as I did that woman’s ire. 

The memory teased a smile from my lips just as I pulled into my parking space. It was still storming, and the bitter wind whipped my hair into unruly tangles in front of my face during the brief walk to the door. Brian, the always jovial doorman who was old enough to be my grandfather, had the decency to at least look down as I passed, dripping wet, my shirt and jeans clinging to me like a second skin even as water pooled on his spotless marble floor. 

“Miss Gabriel, I know you have an umbrella.” I could hear the concern in the words and I smiled turning to walk backwards as I answered him. “I know Brian, I’ll bring it next time, I promise.” Pressing the button for the elevator, I hear his rich, warm laughter.

“That’s what you said last time, Miss Garbiel.” 

“And that is what I will say next time as well, you know that.” I gave the red coated man a wave and a grin as the elevator doors closed, and I finally let out my breath, my body sagging against the polished rail. It had been so long since I had had to fake simple interaction that I almost forgot how much energy it took. 

A soft, tinny version of ‘Sweet Emotion’ Played through the speaker above my head and I scowled at the offending item, narrowing my eyes and tapping my foot. This elevator ride was taking forever. Although it probably would have taken less time if I had hit the button for my floor. Jabbing the five with my thumb, I rub my hands along my wet arms, although the attempt to warm up was futile. The cold was merely physical, a problem that could be solved with a hot shower, some tea and a change of clothes. I could feel the keycard shoved in the pocket of my jeans and it felt like it was emanating heat of it’s own, warming my very soul and igniting a fire in the pit of my belly. 

The moment the doors opened, I nearly sprinted to my door, forcing my key into the lock and pushing it open. I slammed it a bit harder than intended and flipped one of the three locks closed as I kick off my shoes in a huff. The left one cooperates but the right one flies across the room, catching the edge of the empty vase still sitting on my coffee table and sending it to the floor in a glorious crash. I don't have it in me to clean up the shards right now so I avoid the floor, jumping over the back of the couch as I set my phone into the dock and pull up my favorite playlist. 

The heavy drums and wailing guitars begin almost instantly and I sing under my breath as I peel my wet clothes off, the opposite of gracefully, fetching the keycard from my jeans before tossing the entire load directly in the washer and heading to the bathroom, eager for a hot shower. 

I wasn’t high maintenance, not really , but it should have taken me longer to dress. Even with standing in front of my closet in a towel for a good twenty minutes, I was ready to leave in an hour and a half. Tip to toe, it took ninety minutes to look this mediocre. My hair hung in loose waves down my back and my eyes were rimmed with a light black kohl pencil. A swipe of berry lip gloss and some mascara was about all I was willing to deal with tonight, as my hands were shaking like leaves. I had no idea what exactly I should wear, but I managed to squeeze into a black cocktail dress from one of the multiple mandatory Gabriel family functions I had attended over the last few years. My shoes though… they were gorgeous. Deep red satin cage t-straps with a metal and crystal flower twisting around the heel. My feet may not be beautiful, but my shoes could be. Key card, ID, cash and keys stowed away in a small clutch, I left the cold, comforting apartment and headed to the stairs. The elevator would be easier but the walk would clear my head. 

The night was cool, the lingering although slight chill in the air was a side effect of the long departed afternoon showers and the lights of the strip shimmered on the wet asphalt, the reflections broken in the cracks, a grotesque funhouse mirror version of the spectacle that soared overhead. I didn’t think, I couldn’t, as I wove through the sea of people, narrowly avoiding both an upturned cup of… something neon as it’s more than a bit drunk carrier as he stumbled to the ground, laughing on impact, as well as a stream of vomit from one of his equally unsober friends. There was a reason I never drank, and they were it. The crowds thinned out as I got farther away from the casinos and my heart hammered in my chest with each step, blood rushing in my ears. I had no doubt my face was a red as my shoes. 

I stopped dead in my tracks when I saw it, the gleam of crimson against the dark buildings and I stared, transfixed, quite literally frozen into place. This was happening, it truly was, although I still did not know exactly what it would entail. I had no idea and for the first time in my entire life, that was okay. Blowing out a tightly held breath, I headed up the stairs and slid the card down the reader, my eyes glued to the small light as I waited for it to turn from red to green. It did. I pulled open the decorative handle, nearly catching my reflection in the polished surface, and did not falter as I stepped into another world.

 

I wasn’t exactly sure what I was expecting but what I saw was not it. Granted, I knew enough to realize that there was not going to be a Caligula like bacchanalia, but I think I had built it up so much in my mind that the simplicity was a pleasant surprise. It was dark, as was fitting, and my heels clicked on the floor, the sound melting into the low hum of chatter and the tinkling of ice against crystal. My heart still pounded harder that could have possibly been healthy. 

The large space was full of people, although it was not crowded by any means. The air was cool overhead, almost painfully so and I could feel the skin on my arms prickle up. I kept my head down as I walked through the rom, eager for the comfort of a wall to lean on and just… observe for a few moments, and get my bearings. 

It was almost amusing to me how much I had worked myself up for this moment, and it was not a let down, not even a bit, even if I was ridiculously out of my element. According to Doctor Armstrong that would fade in time. The man had more faith in me than I had in myself, although his words rang in my mind as I headed towards a free space along the far wall, my fingers fidgeting with the hem of my dress, the silk soft and cool between my fingers. Brushing a lock of hair from my eyes, I leaned back against the wall, relishing the support behind my shoulders and let my gaze wander. 

It was fascinating, truly, to just stand and watch the people in the room as they interacted. People had always intrigued me, who they were, why they did what they did. I wanted to know the latter more than anything which was probably why I settled on my major, much to my parents chagrin. They would have loved another Harvard lawyer in the family. 

I found myself studying the body language of as many people as possible, although subtly. Years of fading into the background at political functions had taught me how to blend in with my surroundings, as it were. Children of politicians are to be seen and not heard, unless you have something positive to contribute. I never did and so I kept quiet. Why rock the boat when you don’t know how to swim? 

The interpersonal dynamics at play were a people-watcher's dream come true and, even though I could hear snippets of conversations, I focused instead on body language, allowing a small smile to pull at my lips as the words of Freud ran through my head. ‘The behavior of a human being in sexual matters is often a prototype for the whole of his other modes of reaction in life.’ The man may have done enough cocaine to kill a small horse, but he made some valid points. 

My attention was pulled away by a slight bump on my shoulder and my cheeks flushed as I glanced over to see that my small sliver of solitude had been invaded, although not purposefully so, I didn’t believe, by a couple who were speaking in hushed tones. The man was small and well muscled, his vast expanse of bare skin covered with intricate and colorful tattoos of what looked like tentacles, his auburn hair was bright in contrast to the pale, unmarked skin of his face. I could just barely make out a set of deep green tentacles inked on his throat, disappearing under a black leather collar that ended at his fuzzy beard. There was a shining silver chain attached to the D ring on the collar, the other end clasped in the hand of an exceedingly petite woman with delicate, vaguely asian features, her slim form encased in dark blue, leather that cinched in her waist and flowed elegantly to flirt with the straps of the tallest heels I had ever seen. Even in the footwear, the woman barely seemed to reach my shoulder. There was an aura of iciness to her, something cold that spoke of control and distance, but not necessary power. 

Although they were quiet, I could still hear more of their words than I wanted to, and the woman glanced up at me at one point with a sneer before pulling her companion away into the throng the moment and I dropped my gaze. I made my own retreat just seconds after, uncomfortable with being a part of such an intimate moment between two strangers. 

I allowed my gaze to travel once again over the room and I breathed a small sigh of relief when my eyes landed on an empty table. My feet didn’t hurt, not a bit, but sitting would disguise the slight shake of my knees and allow me a different vantage point for my continued observations. I was far more at ease that I was even when I had walked in but still out of my element as I wove through the people towards my destination. Which, I noticed upon arriving and actually sitting down, was not nearly as empty as I had thought, the low light combining with my glasses free state and a dark suit to very effectively disguise the single occupant. 

I could feel the flush rising up my neck and to my cheeks and I cursed my circulatory system as I looked up at my unintended tablemate.

“ I’m so sorry Sir, I- I didn’t see you. It’s dark and I don’t have my glasses and I’m sorry.” The words came out in a rush as I stood, falling from my lips before I had a chance to catch myself.


	2. Chapter Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Questions and revelations. Although really, more questions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, here is the next part of this tale. There is A LOT more to go, but I am forcing myself to be patient... it is not easy as I have a bit of an instant gratification problem. 
> 
> Questions, comments and kudos keep my day bright and make all of the difference in the world to a writer, truly. 
> 
> This is all unbetad so any and all mistakes are mine and mine alone. 
> 
> This, as always, goes out to the amazing Flames_And_Jade for her belated birthday. Because she is wondrous. 
> 
> The lovely SnitchesAndTalkers mentioned that chapter one was like a 'Where's Waldo' book with the cameos. That DELIGHTED ME TO NO END. So, let me know who you think pops up unnamed in each chapter, I would love to see how the folks come across. 
> 
> I know I promised SO MANY PEOPLE would be showing up, and they will in very due time, but I have to get some logistics out of the way. Stick with me, kids. 
> 
> As always, thank you so much for taking the time to read this little tale, it makes me happier than I can say and I truly hope you enjoy it. 
> 
>  
> 
> If you don't want to, or can't, comment here, or if you just want to talk about random bandom goodness, I can be found at AllKindsOfPlatinumAndPercocet on tumblr.

“ I have never been one to turn down company, especially when it is as lovely as you. Please don’t apologize, you are more than welcome to join me. It would be quite a reprieve from my usual habit of skulking around in dark corners.” The words were spoken in a cool, collected voice that somehow managed to hold a smile to it, even if I could not see any signs of one in the dimmer lighting. My unknown companion extended a hand as well, the overhead lighting flashing off of what I knew was a top of the line Rolex. I’d bought my father the same one for Christmas two years ago. 

I stared for a moment, my eyes still adjusting to the relative darkness in the corner before taking his proffered hand, my own looking positively miniscule in comparison. " Thank you, truly, that is very kind of you, although flattery is not necessary. " My own voice was quiet, softer even than I had intended, although rougher thanks to my suddenly parched throat. I dipped my head in a small nod, my fingers clenched around my tiny bag as it it were a life raft in the middle of the ocean, as I mentally weighed my options for an instant. I could sit down and make conversation which was always a good thing. Or I could go back and stand against a wall and simply… watch. Observe. Blend into the surroundings. As appealing and comfortable as the latter sounded, and it did, very, that was not why I was here. My smile was soft as I sat down, crossing my ankles beneath the chair. "Thank you, again Sir. I’m- I’m Charleigh, it’s very nice to meet you. And please ignore me if I babble, I’ve never been here before and I am a bit…. nervous. " The words were rapid, and as I spoke, I wound the fingers of my free hand absently around the ridiculous tendril of hair that absolutely would not stay out of my eyes. 

“Well, Charleigh it is quite the pleasure.” There was definitely a smile in his voice this time and I could see the wide grin on his face, concealing a hint of something darker behind his eyes as he relaxed into his seat and took a sip of something from a dark china cup. “It is most definitely not my first time here. In fact, you can find me here most days. I work here.”

A small smile formed on my lips as my accidental companion met my eyes. There was a quiet burning in them, an intensity that belied hidden depths that, despite myself, I wanted to know more about. " It’s very nice to meet you, Gabriel, and thank you. Although I know from experience that my particular brand of babble can get old rather quickly. " It took me a moment to register the last phrase, my eyes having been glued to my hands which now sat, fingers laced, in my lap. The admission caught my attention and my head snapped up, intrigue no doubt written plainly on my face. Even as I watched him do something so pedestrian as sip from the delicate cup that sat before him, there was a… not grace, really, but a fluidity of movement, an almost ease that had me both sitting up straighter and wanting to fold into myself at the same time. He was intimidating. Not frightening, really, just… intimidating. 

“May I ask what it is that you do here? And please feel free to tell me no.” 

Gabriel placed his cup back delicately onto the saucer and watched me with a quiet intensity, his dark eyes darting in a calculated assessment. “I don’t mind at all. I’m a dominant here, as I have been for nearly six years.” He waved a hand in the air and a black clad woman appeared at the table and there were two sets of eyes on me. “Can I get you a drink, Charleigh?”

I was more than intrigued by the admission, to say nothing of the pride and ease of which he spoke. I knew I was staring, and that it was obvious, but that didn’t deter me, despite my better wishes. Shaking my head clear of the questions that seemed almost never ending and actually listened for a moment to what was being said. Dominant. Six years. A drink. A drink. That would be my cue to actually speak. Casting my gaze to the petite girl that seemed to materialize out of thin air, I offered a small smile. “ Thank you, A Diet Coke would be lovely, I’m not a big drinker.” The girl turned her attention to Gabriel and he shook his head, dark hair gleaming. “Nothing for me, thank you.” As the girl vanished, I turned my attention back to Gabriel and I I could feel his gaze on me. While it should have unnerved me, it didn’t, although I could not explain why. Shifting in my seat, I untuck my feet from beneath the chair and stretch my legs out just a bit and bit my lip lightly as I pondered my next words. " What… can you tell me what exactly that entails? I know a little, mostly from research but I have never seen or understood first hand… and I’m babbling again, I’m sorry. I’m just curious." That was probably the understatement of the century but I did not elaborate.

“I would be happy to, Charleigh. My work entails quite a list of things, some far more interesting than others, but the majority of my time is spent on public scenes here on the floor or in one of the private rooms or my office. My expertise is rather… varied, shall we say.” There was something lascivious in his words and I had to fight a shiver at the casual delivery. “I have been known, from time to time, to appreciate a lovely pair of shoes and yours are quite stunning. 

 

I listened intently as he spoke, resting my chin on my hand. Each answer only seemed to create a cavalcade of more questions and I struggled to remember them all. My interest was more than piqued, I was… excited. To get answers, to learn to know. I had always been a strong believer in education and the power of knowledge, despite not exactly taking a traditional path and definitely not taking the one that my parents would have chosen for me. I wanted more than that, even the idea of studying law made me nauseous. I needed to know more, see more. I wanted to know why people did what they did, what made them who they were, and I was doing it, in a sense. Now if I could just figure out the same thing about myself, I would be all set. 

“Scenes? Forgive me, I’m not exactly sure what that… "My voice trailed off as Gabriel glanced under the table at my shoes and my cheeks, having finally returned to their normal state, flushed again under his gaze. " I- I- thank you. They are a favorite of mine. My feet may not be beautiful but on occasion my shoes are.” 

There was a flash of something I couldn’t pinpoint in Gabriel’s dark eyes and he gave the slightest shake of his head.” You should never put yourself down like that. Scars always serve a purpose, hey have a story to tell and it is usually one of survival.” His voice trailed off as the waitress appeared again, just as quietly as she had before, and set a glass before me before vanishing back into the crowd. ”Scenes are sessions involving BDSM play, usually planned and consented on beforehand by all involved parties. They can either be public or private, although I am a bit of an exhibionist and I do enjoy an audience.” There was a dark laugh that accompanied his words and I sat almost transfixed. “It is, however, always at the sole discretion of the submissive. Everything here is, always.”

I smiled softly at the gentle, yet commanding words, so similar to ones that I believed with the whole of my being as I processed his answers and fumbled for my own words. “It is very true. My feet, while not lovely as some were my livelihood, they had provided and allowed for me to pursue my passion. It is a delight to hear someone else of the same mindset. So often people simply disregard so much of what they don’t, or can’t, understand simply by virtue of ignorance. As for your job, It’s all… fascinating, truly. I understand the basics of what happens, literally, the bare bones but it seems like there is so much more, if that makes any sense. You can only get so much from a text book and a discussion, somethings need to be observed or experienced to be fully known. " I trailed off with a small squeak, clasping my hand over my mouth as the possible implications of my words settled fully in my overactive mind. "That isn’t- I didn’t mean… " I sputtered, taking a long sip of my beverage, humming around my straw as the icy sweet beverage soothed my parched throat. Setting the glass down, I let my fingers linger on the slick surface, my eyes drawn to the droplets that slipped down the side of the glass, both the condensation and the crystal sparkling even in the dim light. "No, that’s not true. I did mean. That was exactly what I meant.” I had no clue what I was saying. The words were quiet, barely a whisper, and yet they held the weight of the world in their few small syllables. Taking a deep breath, I raise my eyes slowly, unsure of what exactly I would find when I met Gabriel’s gaze and was greeted with a blinding grin. 

My smile is immediate at the words; they were familiar and yet it seemed beyond me to place them, not entirely. Raising my glass again, I take a small sip before setting it down and fishing an ice cube out to crunch between my teeth. A revolting habit, to be sure but on I could never seem to break myself of. There were worse vices, I supposed. I weighed my next statement carefully, pausing with pursed lips before speaking. "And how, exactly would one come to perfect these experiences? " It took all of the strength I had not to just stand and bolt at that moment, run out into the night and never step through the red doors again but… I couldn’t. I had made it this far, and that had to account for something. For the first time in my life I nearly wished that I drank, as a bit of liquid courage would be a welcome relief at this moment. I didn’t, however, and instead shifted in my seat, my muscles aching and tense even as my foot tapped incessantly. "I apologize if I crossed a line, Gabriel. It was unintentional. 

“It takes far more than a question to cross any lines with me, Carino. As your posture and legs would attest, you are no doubt familiar with the phrase ‘practice makes perfect.” That is as true of my profession, both sides of it, as it is anywhere else in the world. 

The response resonated with me on many levels and I nodded, dropping my head to glare at my feet, even as I hooked one behind the leg of the chair to ease my nervous habit. "I don’t know if perfection can be truly attained, Sir, but I think that the willingness and dedication to getting there, that drive and commitment, may be greater than even the reward of perfection. Because once something is perfect, what else is there? There is no way to improve upon perfection. If you are constantly striving to reach that goal, you tend to find things in yourself that you never imagined, a reward of the highest caliber. Being able to constantly work and improve… that is what life's about. " I laugh softly at my own ridiculousness, the sound husky in the dark, and cast my gaze back up to my companion. "I get a bit worked up over certain things, I apologize. Practice is something I have had much experience in, endless hours actually, spent trying to attain perfection. It wasn’t until I realized that wasn’t what I truly need that I began to enjoy what I did. " I shrugged, fishing another cube from my glass and crushing it between my teeth.  
" How, exactly would one begin to practice in this world?" The question was quiet, not quite a whisper, but low enough that it was only for Gabriel’s ears. I couldn’t bring myself to look back up, not yet, and instead focused my attention back on my drink, spinning the glass absently with my fingertips. 

In lieu of an answer, Gabriel shifted in his chair, fishing in his interior jacket pocket before placing something on the table.” Well, my dear, one would have to call and set up an appointment with a Dominant. It isn’t all that much different than seeing a doctor, really. Although I like to think it is infinitely more exciting.” There was a lightness in his words, almost a tease and I found myself shifting in my chair. His explanation was so simple, such a mundane task, an easy answer that it took me off achieve guard and I snapped my head up, laughing. It was unintentional, indeed, but seemed to be perfectly inappropriate but it was real, genuine. When my micro-outburst has subsided, I let my eyes flick between Gabriel’s gaze and the card that he offered, his name and number in the same rich, intoxicating red that covered the doors; Gabriel Saporta.. I didn’t hesitate, much to my own surprise, and my fingertips brushed his carefully as I accepted the offering, my gaze still holding steady on his dark eyes. The card is heavy in my fingers, smooth and luxurious, just the weight of it pulling yet another blush to my cheeks. " Thank you. And… when might be a good time to call and set up such an appointment? " Again, my voice was quiet alther not wavering this time, much like my gaze, despite the thoughts that refused to settle in my head. If I didn’t ask now, if I didn’t push farther than I had wanted to, I wouldn’t and that was not what I wanted. I felt a pull, somehow a yearning deep inside me to learn more about this place, to know all that I could. 

He tapped his fingers on the tabletop for a moment, the sound constant and steady, and I mentally counted off the rhythm, a habit ingrained through over two decades in a dance studio.  
“Well, the receptionist is here until nearly midnight every night. She has a seat of honor by the doors. I will say that if you come in and she is not wearing pigtails or red lipstick, keep your head down and avoid eye contact.” I couldn’t tell if he was joking or not and my confusion must have been written on my face as he burst into laughter; a rich, melodious sound that was almost at odds with his physical appearance. “I am joking, Miss Charleigh. Mostly. No harm will come to you out there, I promise. And the number on that card there will work anytime day or night. As long as I am conscious, I will answer.”

“Thank you, Mr. Saporta, I appreciate that. " I let my eyes fall to the card in my hand again, tapping it lightly against the table while holding Gabriel’s gaze. I had no idea where this bravado was coming from. It had slipped, unbidden, into my soul and pushed, scratching and clawing to get out. That tiny seed of curiosity had taken root and grown into a fully formed life form, demanding to be fed and cared for, nurtured and coddled. It was the same way I felt when I had put on my first pair of pointe shoes, that knowledge that there would be entire worlds opening up. The two were so vastly different and yet, more similar than I cared to imagine. Taking another long pull of my soda, I finally drop my gaze and fish in my purse for my phone, eyes darting between the numbers on the card and the keypad as I held the device in plain view of the man across the table. 

Another raucous round of laughter graced my ears, this time accompanied with the drop of a heavy hand to the table and a shake of his head. “Making sure that isn’t dial-a-prayer?” The question was nearly dripping with unbridled mirth, the same that was lingering behind Gabriel’s dark eyes. 

My smile was instant and bright at the question and I take another sip of my soda before hitting send on my phone, the silence hanging between us for a moment before the tinny ringing emanates from the speaker. “I am." The two words were the hardest that I had spoken all night, even if they were only made up of three tiny letters. There was so much behind them, so much that was held in the words that were unsaid, it sent a shiver down my spine. I couldn’t bring myself to look away from Gabriel, even if I wanted to, and my tongue ran just slightly over my bottom lip yet again, artificially sweet vanilla mingling with a hint of soda, before pulling it back between my teeth and simply waiting. 

With an exaggerated slowness, Gabriel plucked his cellphone from the pocket of his vest and turned the screen to face me before clicking the ringer off and setting the device down on the table. Somehow, he held my gaze through the entire process. “Satisfied?” The word nearly oozed with unspoken possibility and my cheeks, once again, tinged pink. I can’t look away from him, I don’t want to, and I nod just a bit, never lowering my eyes. " Partially, Sir, but thank you." Flat out brazen. I very nearly fell of my chair with shock, my foot wrapped around the leg one of the only reasons I stayed up. This… was not me, and yet it was exactly me at the same time. It was that piece that I had been missing. " It would seem I couldn’t leave a message. Would you be able to suggest a time for an appointment?” My throat was dry, my voice huskier than usual and I fished out the last large ice cube from my glass and popped it in my mouth, crunching hard and sighing as the cool liquid slipped down my throat. 

Retrieving his phone, Gabriel gave a few quick swipes to the screen and hummed before dropping it back into his pocket and meeting my eyes once again. “I have an opening Tuesday at four twenty if that works for you?” 

I was both delighted and a bit downtrodden with the answer. I wasn’t normally one to jump at the chance of instant… not gratification, really, but it was rare for me to indulge my whims in such a fashion and I had no doubt the latter emotion showed on my face for just a fraction of a second. Another sip of my rapidly warming soda and my fingers found my hair again, twirling the tendril between my fingers. "And what is your latest appointment, Mr. Saporta?" I kept the question as light as I could even as my body thrummed hummed with nervous energy, my heart pounding in my chest. 

A dark brow arched, although if it was in curiosity or surprise I wasn’t sure, and Mr. Saporta went back to drumming his long fingers on the table. “My last appointment is at ten most evenings.” 

Swallowing thickly, I spin my near empty glass in front of me pausing only for a moment to smile up at the server as she appears and sets a fresh one before me. I instantly fish out and ice cube, the cold and crunch calming my frazzled nerves, but doing little to dull my racing pulse. "And are you finished working for tonight?” There it was again, that near whisper that seemed to echo in my ears louder than a gunshot, and my lip worked its way back between my teeth as I forced myself to meet Gabriel’s gaze again, all of my nervous neuroses on display as I waited with baited breath. 

The smile that crept across his handsome face was almost predatory, similar to the eyes of a cobra moments before attacking a mongoose. “I can be, if you would like.” His voice was smooth and deep with that hint of laughter that seemed to linger. 

I shrank back just the slightest bit, images of a childhood story flickering through my mind before I froze, my breath catching in my throat under Gabriel’s intense gaze. This was what I wanted, it was why I was here. I was never one to back down from a challenge, not if it could be helped, and I gave a small nod. "It.. yes. I would like Mr. Saporta, if you are willing.” It was true, every word, even more so than I could have ever realized. My heart was beating so quickly I was sure it would burst if I didn’t do something; move, shift, something, but I couldn’t, not yet. Instead, I sat frozen awaiting the soothing voice that I had come to enjoy during our conversation. 

“I am more than willing, Charleigh.” He stood as he spoke, helping me from my chair before offering me his arm with a grin.” Let me show you to my office, it is getting a bit sordid for business out here.” 

I stood on unexplainably shaky legs, endlessly thankful for the proffered arm that I held just a bit tighter than I had planned. I breathed deeply as we walked, my mind running a mile a minute with basic ballet poses. It was silly, yes, but it helped me to relax. As we made our way through the throngs of people scattered about the large room, the music now accompanied by muffled cries and the unmistakeable sound of leather cracking against skin. I felt as though I had slipped through the looking glass and was far past the point of making it out on my own. And I didn’t care.


	3. Chapter Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Through the looking glass and down the rabbit hole. The only trials that count are the ones by fire, right?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well. Okay. So. Yes. Lots of things are about to happen and I am as nervous as all get out. 
> 
> This chapter... thing get pretty intense from here on. Secrets are revealed and some very familiar faces finally show up. 
> 
> This is, as always, unbetaed because I have issues, so I have no doubt it is riddled with mistakes. Sorry. I have this problem where if I reread a puece before I post, I end up scrapping it all. I will go over it again in a day or two and fix any glaring issues. 
> 
> Thank you to all of you who pop by and read this ridiculous flight of fancy, and especially to those who take the time to leave kudos or comments. It truly makes my day seeing them and, honestly, helps me determine how things are getting across. Good? Bad? A hot mess express? I know what I think, but I never know how it comes across. So comments and questions are always, ALWAYS welcome with open arms. 
> 
> As always, this is for the amazing Flames_And_Jade because she had a birthday and I adore her. 
> 
> Thanks, praise and cookies go out to SnitchesAndTalkers fir her support, encouragement and endless pep talks. They make me gleeful. 
> 
> A side note, if you want a little aural easure while reading this chapter, I highly suggest Frank Iero and The Patience 's cover of 'The Killing Moon'. I had it on repeat while I wrote. 
> 
> Okay, enough lollygagging. Thank you all so much for taking yout precious time to read this, it means so much to me.

The hallways were dark and I held my clutch tightly in my free hand as I followed half a step behind Gabriel. I let my eyes wander only slightly during the journey, taking in the different doors, all beautiful wood and distinctive from the next. Some were open fully, revealing crowded rooms and screams of all kind, mingling with the music. There was one, however, that was just barely cracked and I could clearly see the two occupants, alone in the still and silence. A pale man with a shock of bright red hair was resting on a shorter man’s lap, his face pressed against the shoulder of a dark suit coat and his shoulder shook in what seemed like sobs. The gentleman in the suit was smoothing strong tattooed hands along a series of vivid red lines that crossed back and forth over the redheads back, his lips moving in soft, spoken words that were not meant for my ears. His eyes, when I met them for just an instant as he looked up, were a mercurial hazel, and hard but not unkind. I knew, somehow, that I was witnessing something that was not meant for my eyes and I dropped my gaze, head falling forward in an unspoken apology as I hurried behind Mr. Saporta’s tall form. Even in my heels, he had what seemed to be nearly a foot on me. I nearly stumbled when Mr. Saporta came to a stop and I glanced up, admiring the door for it’s simplicity and elegance. There were carvings, although subtle etched in the wood, an elegant, stylized cobra that was equally inviting and fearsome; It suited him. 

“It’s beautiful. “

Large hands nimbly turned a key in the lock and the door swung open with a quiet swish as Mr. Saporta gave a small, almost comical bow and gestured me inside with a sweep of his arm. “Welcome to my domain, please have a seat.” 

I step inside, my gait just slightly hesitant and pause in awe as soon as I pass Mr. Saporta. The room is stunning, opulent even, but still manages to maintain a quiet air of masculinity. My eyes are wide and seem to be looking everywhere at once, trying to drink it all in, bask in everything as much as I can while committing it to memory. " It’s beautiful, Gabriel. I… have no idea what most of your items are for but… I should like to find out, eventually.”

I heard a quiet chuckle as Mr, Saporta moved to settle behind the large cherry desk that was at the far end of the room. “To everything there is a season, and a time to every purpose under heaven, Miss… I don’t believe I caught your last name.”

I let my gaze continue to wander, my mind right along with it as I take in every detail of the room. It was not what I was expecting, and yet completely perfect which seemed to be a theme tonight. The low words snapped me out of my trance and I turned to face Gabriel, a small smile on my face as I met his eyes before sitting carefully. " Ecclesiastes 3:1. A favorite of mine. And I apologize, that was because I never gave it, I was a bit distracted. Gabriel, actually. Charleigh James Gabriel." I hold Gabriel’s gaze as I speak, waiting to see if the flicker of recognition passes in his eyes as it did with so many others. And I did, although it was accompanied by a nearly blinding smile. 

“It is kismet, obviously. Gabriel, the angel of Revelation. I think, somehow, that is fitting beyond words.” Mr. Saporta chuckled and settled back into his chair, fingers steepled on the shining wood. “Now, my dear Miss Gabriel, what did you have in mind?” 

The question was not a difficult one, and in any other circumstance I would have answered immediately but seated across the large desk from Mr. Saporta, I suddenly found myself incapable of rational thought, despite my mind whirling faster than I could manage to keep up with. What did I have in mind? The words seemed to somehow disappear on the path from my brain to my lips. 

" I want- that is- I’d like to learn. " I sounded like a primary school child with a stutter, desperately attempting to make her teacher know that she was trying really hard and deserved that A for effort. Closing my eyes, I exhale briefly, centering myself for a moment. When I opened them again, immediately returning my gaze to Gabriel’s, my mind was clear, even if my throat was dry. " I’d like to learn. I know a bit, basics, things that can be picked up from a textbook but I also know that there is so much more than that. I can’t explain why but I feel like… there is more to this life that what so many people believe. It’s more about giving of oneself, freely and fully, than just kink and that idea… the concept of growing as a person by trusting another so implicitly… It feels right to me, if that makes any sense. “

 

“It does indeed, and you are absolutely right. Textbooks can only convey words; this lifestyle, and that is what it is, is about emotion, feeling and trust. It truly must be experienced to be understood.” He paused for a moment, lips pursed and leaned forward just a bit to brush the stray lock of hair that had fallen in front of my eyes behind my ear. ‘What makes you think I am the right teacher for you?” 

The touch was barely anything, a ghost of fingertips along my ear, but it still sent a shiver through me that I did not attempt to hide. Pulling my lip between my teeth for a moment, I think on the question, weighing my words carefully before speaking. " I do want to learn, yes. And there is something… behind your eyes. Your frankness is appealing, Mr. Saporta, and it belies not only a genuine knowledge for this life, but also a deep respect for it. The way you speak, the way you move there is more than meets the eye, a depth that is intriguing to me. I just- Have you ever met someone and just known, somehow, that they would be someone who had an impact on your life? It sounds crazy, and scientifically speaking it makes no sense at all but… it just feels right. And please forgive me for babbling again, I tend to go off on tangents. And, you know… kismet.”

“Do not apologize unless you have done something wrong, Charleigh. You are allowed to speak.” Gabriel rose and crossed behind me, leaning down to whisper in my ear, his breath brushing warm against my neck. “This world is full of delights, pleasure and pain both, although not always in equal measure. While not always necessary, sex does play a role, and frequently, in my case, although consent is always utmost and the submissive always, always holds all of the control, common to popular misconception. Does this shock you, Carino?

 

My breath caught just slightly as Gabriel’s warm breath brushed over my skin. It would have been foolish of me to attempt to hide my reaction, and I didn’t want to do so, not even for a moment. His words, the carefully weighed and delivered syllables, seemed to speak directly to some part of me that I didn’t know existed before this moment. "That makes perfect sense, Mr. Saporta. And as for misconceptions, well, they are called such for a reason. " My fingers tightened almost imperceptibly on the arms of the chair and I shifted, wanting to keep Gabriel in my sights. I didn’t turn around, I couldn’t and instead kept still, my eyes ahead of me. “ANd no, I am not afraid of sex, in any form, Sir. Although I do have some issues surrounding it, it is not anything that should hinder.” The words were true and carefully measured as so not to give away too much, although I knew that the things I hid at the moment would come out eventually. I watched as Mr. Saporta came into view, first a long expanse of leg and then his torso before I finally looked up to his face as he leaned on his desk. 

“Issues can be worked around, Miss Gabriel. I do have some things I would like to try, but only if you are comfortable.” The words were spoken in a low, comforting tone. 

I had known him for all of a few hours, may have under any other circumstance seemed insane, but here it felt right, almost to an unknown degree. As much as I had always been one to please others, and growing up in the family that I did that was a requirement, I always did it for them. That need to keep people happy was not because I wanted to do so, but because it was what they wanted. It was more of a defeat for me, a giving in to the needs of others. Here though, in this breathtaking room, with Gabriel standing before me, I truly wanted to please him and I wanted to do so not simply for him but for myself as well . " I am quite comfortable with that, Mr. Saporta." My words were soft but sure, not wavering for an instant because they were true, possibly more so than any others that had crossed my lips. 

His smile was instant, and he stood, sliding off his suit jacket and working at the cuffs of his deep purple dress shirt to roll them to his elbows. “That settles it then, Carino. From now on, you will refer to me as Sir. Do you trust me to keep you safe and act in only your best interests?”

I sit, my gaze locked on his as he speaks, enthralled with the slight change that seems to flash across his features with his words. In another situation, I would have paused, stuttered, maybe even ran for the door but here, now, I felt nothing but safe and I spoke without hesitation, the words clear and true even if my voice was quiet. " Yes Sir, I do."Whether it was anxiety, anticipation or something else entirely that blossomed in my stomach I was not sure, but I knew, without a doubt that this was exactly where I was supposed to be. "I do.”

There was a gleam in dark eyes at the epithet and Mr. saporta’s dark head bobbed in a single nod. “Good girl. Now, stand up and tell me what your textbooks told you about safewords.”   
I stand quickly as directed, my body moving seemingly before the words had even registered fully in my ears. I could hear the scrape of the chair legs along the floor but I did not move, instead keeping my eyes forward. Mr. Saporta’s footsteps echoed in my ears and I found myself mentally counting the time between the falls as he walked, more than a slight habit picked up by over twenty years of dancing. I stood tall, my chin slightly tilted upward and my hands loose and easy by my sides, and even though I could not see him, I could feel his eyes upon me, examining me as if I were a piece of art. It was very much a different feeling that what I was used to. In my world, in the life I grew up in, when someone looked at you like that, you were being judged on everything; the way you moved, how your clothing fit, how tight your hair was. But here, now? There was nothing like that, there was simple acceptance and it brought the faintest ghost of a smile to my lips. The next question was unsurprising, not only because of my studies but because of my discussion with Doctor Armstrong as well. The finger that trailed down my neck caused goosebumps in it’s wake but I managed to suppress a shiver. " Yes, Sir. I have learned about them both in my studies as well as during a personal conversation with the gentleman who referred me here.” My mind raced back over the length discussion I’d had with Doctor Armstrong and I struggled for a moment to remember, distracted by yet another touch on my skin. I do not have anything specific in mind. Doctor Reuben went into great detail about the traffic light system, I believe it was? I think, however, that a single word should suffice, if I may be so bold as to suggest that. 

Mr. Saporta's finger ran gently down my bare arm and I fought to keep still despite the urge to lean into the touch. “You may always be bold, my dear. What word would you like?”

I listened intently, my senses on overdrive as I stared straight ahead, my gaze locked on the wall behind Mr. Saporta’s desk. I wanted to turn, to see where he was but I couldn’t not yet. Instead, I listened, counted footfalls and focused on the gentle touches that danced over my skin; the sound of his voice and whether or not I could feel the warmth of his breath. I couldn’t not at this exact moment, and his steps sound slightly softer, that deep voice sounding from what sounded like behind me and slightly to my left. My mind clicked over again, words filtering until one slipped, nearly unbidden, from my lips. " Turpentine, Sir. " It was an odd choice, but seemed fitting. My mother, in one of her many attempts to nurture a non-existent softer side and ‘embrace her zen’ as her therapist said, had taken up painting for a brief period and the smell of the oil she used when mixing paints still turned my stomach. " If that is acceptable?

Brushing the hair from my shoulder, Mr. Saporta let his hand linger at the hollow between my neck and shoulder, one fingertip brushing against the pulse that flittered in my throat.”Charleigh, it does not matter what is acceptable to me. That decision, as with all others here, is yours and yours alone. One mention of that word and everything comes to a stop. Despite my being in a position of dominance, the submissive, YOU, hold all of the power in this room.” 

His words are calm and measured as always, and the slight touch to my hair had me shivering, but I did not move my head even as I pondered what he said. "I knew of the logistics, Sir but I have never heard it put so… " I paused, searching for the right word. Eloquently. Thank you, I will do my best to be deserving of the chance that you are giving me. " It was true, each and every word. This was not just a jump for me, but for him as well, and I was immensely grateful. " I think… Turpentine will be it. " I couldn’t help the wrinkle of my nose as I said it again, the scent of the oil paints and thinner drifting back to me. 

“Good, Charleigh. And now limits, tell me what yours are, if you would.” Gabriel mover back around in front of me again and rested back on his desk, bringing us nearly back to eye level. The same finger that had rested on my pulse slipped down low, trailing slowly over the curve of my breast.

It was something of a relief to see Mr. Saporta in my field of vision again and I smiled softly even as I leaned back just slightly in the chair, barely into his touch. His hand is only there for what feels like an instant before I meet his gaze again, his words simple. I knew what they meant, thanks once again to Doctor Armstrong, but as soon as I tried to speak, fingers were trailing lightly along my skin again and it was quite distracting. My breath caught and, try as I could to hide it, I failed. "Limits… yes. No rape fantasy of any kind, no burning, no scat or urine and no spitting on me, Sir. Please. Everything else is flexible. 

“It would seem kismet is on our side yet again, my dear. With one small exception, your interests and mine dovetail perfectly. Is there anything else I should know before we begin?”

"I could see a shift, just a bit as I met his gaze again, something nearly twinkled in his eyes and it was contagious, my smile growing. My pulse sped up just slightly as his fingers continued to wander and I inwardly cursed my tell-tale heart as it raced and my cheeks flushed pink. I mentally rehashed the conversation between Doctor Armstrong and I as well as all that I had picked up talking with Mr. Saporta over the course of the evening, searching for anything that may, possible, need to be divulged. I came up with nothing and shook my head just slightly, my hair falling back in front of my face. “No, Sir, I don’t believe there is, but thank you for asking.”

Another blinding smile was the response and the hand that had been trailing over my far from expansive cleavage stopped and drifted easily up to brush across my cheek. “Tell me, Carino, do you mind an audience? I am so very fond of them.”

I shook my head on instinct and received a soft, almost delicate pat to my cheek from his large hand before he vanished again, retrieving the phone that he had long since set on his desk. A few mumbled words and he set it down again with a small grin. “I have asked a few of my more trusted acquaintances to join us for the evening. They will not touch you, I promise, they will just watch. Is that still alright with you?”

I pondered the words, my tongue darting out to wet my dry lips and I nodded. As I opened my mouth to speak, however, there was a single rap on the door. Gabriel smiled and tapped a finger across the tip of my nose.

“Stay here.” He was gone in an instant, footsteps fading as he crossed to the door. It opened and closed and the sound of footsteps had increased, but I did not turn around even as Mr. Saporta returned behind me, and turned me around, hands gentle on my shoulders. 

There were three other men in the room, standing opposite the large mirror that covered the far wall of the room. My cheeks warmed instantly as I recognized the same man I had inadvertently spied on earlier amongst them. My reaction was not lost on Mr, Saporta who raised a brow but did not question. “I’d like to introduce my associates. Mr. Iero, Mr. Stump, and Mr. Wentz. “ Gabriel gestured his hand with each name and I followed his movement, my eyes falling on each gentleman in turn. Mr. Iero was the one whom I had seen earlier, and gave me a knowing nod. Mr. Stump, dressed in head to toe black, with a bit of ginger hair peeking out from beneath a dark fedora looked at me from behind dark framed glasses and gave a warm smile, his blue eyes comforting. Mr. Wentz was at the end of the line and, like Mr. Saporta, had the sleeves of his white shirt rolled up, although his toffee skin was covered with stark lines of tattoos that disappeared under the fabric. He gave a nod, much like Mr. Iero, but there was something a bit softer in his face, and knowledge seemed to spark behind his whiskey eyes. “Gentlemen, this is Miss Charleigh James Gabriel. She is joining us for the first time this evening.” There was almost a hint of glee in Mr. Saporta’s voice as he introduced me and, in lieu of speaking, I gave a small smile and dropped my head in a simple nod as I scurried to keep my wits about me. The attempt was short lived as Gabriel once again deftly tucked my once again escaped hair back behind my ear even as I fought the urge to blow it out of my eyes. The touch was gentle but fleeting as his hand skimmed down my back. The sound that reached my ears was quiet, nearly inaudible, but I recognized it instantly; the soft scrape of metal as a zipper was lowered slightly, not quite far enough for the pale pink lace to peek out but far enough that I felt a brush of cool air across the small area of newly exposed skin. It felt good, a beautiful contrast to the heat that seemed to be surging through the rest of my body. 

" The zipper tends to stick a bit, Sir." There was no hint of reservation in my voice, because I had no fears, least of all about being unclothed. I made my living for a brief period in some very small costumes in front of thousands of people, to say nothing of a parade of seamstresses, teachers and changing rooms. I was many things, but modest was not one of them. 

The warning seemed unnecessary as the zipper was quickly lowered and my dress brushed from my shoulders to fall in a puddle at my feet. “Go stand in the middle of the room, beneath the bar, Charleigh. Face to the mirror, feet shoulder width apart and your hands behind your back” The command was rattled off easily, and there was a new note of hardness in his voice, sending a chill through me. As soon as my dress skimmed to the floor, I was thankful that my mother had instilled in me the importance of beautiful underwear. She may have had her faults, but she tried. I could feel Mr. Saporta’s eyes on me, exploring, studying as though I was art. My cheeks, for once, did not betray me, and I nodded simply at the command, keeping my head down as I walked. Standing was doable. I stopped beneath the bar, the soft glint of the chains in the light pulling my focus for a heartbeat, and clasped my hands behind my back, my feet automatically gliding into second position, toes pointed outward and back straight, my back to the door as I breathed and ignored the mirror across from me. "Is this correct, Sir?”

The touch of fingertips over my skin was nearly featherlight, though a trail of goosebumps formed in their wake even as I pulled my lip between my teeth to keep from laughing. I had been insanely ticklish since as long as I could remember and it could be a downfall here if I could not control my reaction. The soft rasp of leather and metal combined with a gentle pressure just above the delicate straps of my shoes combined and clicked in my head to somehow realize that Mr. Saporta had quickly fastened the cuffs around my ankles. It felt… good. Different from anything else, but good nonetheless. His hands explored further as he stood, skimming across tender, sensitive skin and taut muscle honed by years in the studio. I didn’t move my head even as Gabriel leaned closer, and I could feel the heat of his breath across my neck as a slight and yet delectable hint of cologne drifted to my nose. He smelled good, not that it was a surprise. The same sounds drifted to my ears as leather closed around my wrists. I could feel the absence of warmth as he stepped away and barely managed to suppress a shiver as I hazarded a glance upwards to meet his eyes. 

“Perfect, Charleigh.” The praise was simple but went far to dispel any lingering doubt. 

“Thank you, Sir.” My words were quiet but sincere and I watched, hypnotized, my skin nearly burning with anticipation even as I held his gaze. The soft click of metal against metal seemed to echo in the quiet of the room like a gunshot and my eyes widened just slightly he unclasped his belt and slid the leather through his belt loops in one smooth, elegant movement. My throat went dry, whether from excitement or nerves I could not tell, but I couldn’t bring myself to look away even if I wanted to. The smile that played across Mr. Saporta’s face was dark, almost chilling and I found myself glancing back up to his eyes. 

“Are you sure you are ready for this?” I could still see a hint of kindness in his gaze, although it was nearly eclipsed by something new, a darkness that had me biting my lip softly even as I nodded my head. 

"Yes, Sir. “ my eyes darted away from his for just a moment towards the mirror behind him and met, quite by accident, Mr. Stump’s gaze. He said nothing, not that I expected him to, but gave the briefest of nods before Mr. Saporta spoke again. 

“ That's my good girl.”

The praise brought an instant smile to my face and I tried to straighten up further to no avail, instead just tilting my chin up. A shiver raced down my spine as cold metal skimmed along the smooth curve of my behind, just outside of the edge of my panties. Christ. I shifted my hips backward slightly in an automatic attempt to search and regain that contact that had so briefly teased me only to find…. nothing but the cold air and the cuffs tight on my wrists and ankles restricting my movement. I could hear him though, behind me, his footsteps nearly silent but I just… knew. Two feet behind me, maybe three. Had I been unbound, I could have easily reached him with my foot. Anticipation flooded through me, and I worried my lip between my teeth as I willed myself to not move again. 

I heard it before I felt it, the soft whistle of leather through the air and then the crack of it hitting skin. It surprised me more than anything and I sucked in a sharp breath as the heat registered merely seconds after the contact. It blossomed, hot and stinging across my skin, no doubt leaving a mark. It smarted, the twinge of fire bordering on uncomfortable, but it was not anywhere near some pain that I had experienced for the better portion of my life. When you have to push your body consistently past what it should be capable of; constantly striving to stretch it farther, pull it tighter and jump higher all while making it look not only effortless, but graceful, pain takes on a bit of a different meaning. 

“Count, Girl”

The words though, the near growl… that had me trembling and it was an instant before I was able to find my voice, not loud but clear. " One.”

“Good girl…” There was something nearing genuine pleasure in Gabriel’s voice and the two small words of praise more than extinguished the slight pain along the back of my thighs and I could feel a smile start to form on my lips. It was short lived, however, as the sound of leather through air hit my ears. It was quicker this time, and harder, the fire blossoming across my behind and pulling a sharp gasp from my lips. I had tensed up, preparing unconsciously for the strike and after the belt landed on my flesh, I jolted against the cuffs, my head leaning forward and my hair draping in my eyes. I could hear, in the silence of the room, the soft click of hairpins falling to the floor. I let the normally annoying action pass without any movement, save for my breath blowing it away slightly when I spoke. " Two.” The next strike was harder still and I was prepared for it this time, tensing as the belt cracked across the back of my thighs. It stung and gloriously so, the first flare of heat fading to a dull throb, the slightest hint of pleasure below the pain, seeming to soothe it. 

“You look so good in pink, Carino, it becomes you” Mr. Saporta’s words went far in that ease as well, and I smiled softly as I raised my head, shaking my hair back from my eyes even as the rest of the pins slipped out of my chignon, sending my blonde locks tumbling down my back. It took me a moment to find my voice and I swallowed thickly before speaking, my throat dry. " Three. And thank you, Sir. " I shifted against my bindings, not pulling just straightening a bit and listened intently for the small cues as to where Mr. Saporta stood or when the next blow would land on my skin. I waited with baited breath for the next blow, anticipating that same sting and there was more than a bit of shock when, instead of leather, I felt the gentle touch of skin over the tender flesh. I jumped as much as I could, caught off guard as a slow ached formed in the wake of his fingers even above the delicate lace that covered my skin. I tossed my head in a vain attempt to clear my vision, stilling abruptly as finger slide, ever so gently, under the seams of pink lace. My breath hitches and for a moment the only thing I hear is my heartbeat echoing in my ears until the familiar sound of fabric tearing breaks the quiet and I stand bare save for my shoes and bra, the goosebumps forming having little to do with the cold. His voice is calm and low, coming from behind me, off to what sounded like the right, and I have just enough time to register them before the familiar bite of leather meets my bare skin again. I gasp in surprise, instinctive tears pricking at my eyes as I blink. " Four. " The blow had been harder than the previous ones, although they had been gradually building with each strike. The sting in my eyes was less about pain and more due to embarrassment at the heat that blossomed in my belly with each touch, and I knew that no tears would fall even as I shifted, rising slightly up on my toes and shifted my hips back just slightly the burning subsiding to a dull ache as I unconsciously pushed for contact. 

I suck in a hard breath, my eyes flying open in surprise at the soft cotton against my back and fought against myself not to move. Fingers just barely graze my skin as my hair, now no doubt tangled, was swept aside and the rasp of stubble a warm sweet breath of air flittered across my neck.

“Such a good girl. Would you like another?” 

The pain, such as it was, was forgotten as I fought to clear my head and focus on the question that was asked, the words low and almost needing. My body betrayed me and I could feel my nipples harden even as I nodded, searching for my voice. " Y-Yes, Sir.” The voice wasn’t mine, it was soft and almost fragile with no hint of the smokiness that usually colored my tone. " Please. " The last word was barely more than a whispered plea and I let my eyes drift closed for a moment, reveling in the simplicity of being touched. The sound that fell from my lips was neither a whimper or a moan but some unheard of cross of the two as I arched my back as fingers slipped over my skin. The sound of blood rushing in my ears was nearly deafening and only overshadowed by the tearing of lace. I stood, panting, bound and naked save for my shoes in front of a man I barely knew and yet trusted with all that was in me. A sweat had sprung to my skin and that familiar warmth that had started in my belly was spreading quickly through me, something of a calm before the storm as it were. The crack of leather after such a gentle touch threw me and I yelped as I stiffened at the achingly beautiful burn across my already stinging skin. My voice was breathy and soft, my breathing labored as my chest heaved when I spoke a single word " Five.” 

“You are fucking stunning, Girl. I can not tell you how much I want to see you fall to pieces right now” I felt the warm puff of his breath before I heard his voice, although I could not feel anything else. His words ghosted over my skin, thrilling me in a way I did not know was possible. This man, whom I had known only hours, had me balancing on the edge of a precipice that I hadn’t even known existed only days before. I ached to please him, in some dark, unknown corner of my soul, and it consumed me. Tilting my head towards where I heard his voice, I yearned for touch but instead found only air, the small pout lasting only a heartbeat as leather cracked across my tender flesh. My cry was soft, not entirely from pain, and, had I not been bound, I would have fallen to my knees. It took me a moment fighting against my own breath before I could speak again and I opened my eyes to stare ahead, tangled hair fallen once again in front of my face. 

" Six, Sir.” The last strike came just as I had recovered my wits and I bit my lip, hard, to keep from crying out although the moment the leather touched my already heated skin I knew that it would be futile. It was the strongest strike yet and my knees shook before my weight sagged just slightly, my head falling forward, face hidden behind a curtain of hair. The blow had brought tears to my eyes, the salt burning but not enough to fall. My breath was heavy, my chest heaving with each intake and I stumbled over my words slightly as I straightened my back and lifted my head. The cool air in the room felt glorious on the heated skin of my behind and, even if I was hesitant to admit it, the dampness between my thighs. “S-seven, Sir.”

My body was thrumming the mix of pain from the belt strikes and the blatant arousal caused not only from the strikes themselves, but the proximity of the man who had delivered them had my knees shaking even as I tilted my head back against his shoulder. Christ. I couldn’t see straight and, for once, it was not because I did not have my glasses. I could feel Mr. Saporta behind me, the soft coolness of his clothes against my burning skin even as his hands teased and explored, slipping down between my thighs. Skilled fingers teased at my clit and already wet sex, twisting and prodding as I writhed in pleasure, pushing down against them and aching for more. 

“Come for me, Girl. Now.” The words were low and demanding against my ear and Gabriel’s fingers pressed and pushed and I wished, with all that I was that I could follow the command. My body, as always, had other ideas, and while I cried out, it was not at all in pleasure, but frustration as I could not follow the purred command, I never had been able to, not once. Traitorous tears slipped down my cheeks as I opened my eyes, looking anywhere but at Mr. Saporta in the mirror opposite. 

“I can’t.” The words were a sob and I closed my eyes again, nearly ashamed. 

“Of course you can, Girl. Keep trying.” The statement was almost purred into my ear as Gabriel’s free hand slipped around my waist to press down firmly on my lower abdomen just above my pubic bone.

I wished with everything in me that I could, that the one thing that should be instinctual would actually come to fruition but, once again, my body didn’t cooperate, despite my writhing against my chains and the pleasure that was coursing through me, my hips still rocking into Mr, Saporta’s touch. Opening my eyes again, I looked at the mirror, ignoring the hands between my legs, and even the tall, man behind me, his head bent in concentration. “I want to, I do Sir, but I can’t. I’ve never been..” My words trailed off as I finally found some focus, once again meeting Mr. Stump’s eyes in the mirror even through vision blurred by tears. There was something swirling in their blue depths and the look on his face was not a frown, really, but there was something there that I couldn’t even begin to speculate on in my trembling, sobbing state. 

“Nonsense. You can, Carino. You won’t dissapoint me.” Gabriel’s voice held a hint of frustration and the hand that had been on my stomach vanished trailing up my abdomen to fist in my hair, tugging my neck back sharply. The pain was exquisite even as strong fingers slipped down my neck and rested over my throat squeezing just slightly in time with the fingers that pressed in between my legs. It was heavenly, of course, but ultimately, as I knew, futile and the realization hit me hard, drawing another muffled sob as I fought to keep it back by biting my lip. My gaze was still locked on Mr. Stump’s in the mirror and I could see his fists clenching at his side as his lips twisted further down into a frown. “Maybe if we try-” 

“Saporta, Enough.” The voice that echoed through the room was stern and unwavering, seeming to stop Gabriel in his tracks. I felt the hands that had been lavishing such attention fall away and rest, gently at my sides for an instant. The atmosphere changed in that second and I took a deep breath, gasping as I fought to keep more tears from falling as I went limp, falling back against Mr. Saporta, but my gaze still lingering on the reflection of the man who had spoken. My breath was ragged and still punctuated by soft hiccups as I tried to calm myself, soft words whispered against my ear.

“It’s okay, Carino, it is okay. You did so good.” . His words, quiet and praising, sent a wave of euphoria through me despite my failure and I shuddered against him. I couldn’t concentrate, couldn’t focus long enough to make any sense and I wriggled back as close as I could, desperate for… something, what I did not know. Words finally formed in response to his low moan and I finally broke my gaze from the mirror, , turning my head slightly, my word breathy and broken. 

“Fuck.” The exclamation was one I didn’t use often, at all and felt both foreign and perfect as it fell from my lips. I shiver slightly as Mr. Saporta’s hands ghost over my skin, the residual tremors slowly fading. My hands tingled a bit as my wrists were freed and I leaned back against him for support, my legs still slightly shaking. The soft, almost unintelligible whispers were comforting against my ear and I smiled slightly as we moved to the floor, wincing just a bit as my still raw behind hit the hardwood. A strong arm stayed tightly against my back even as I heard the soft clink and swish of the ankle cuffs being released and I pulled my legs, the muscles burning just slightly, in the best way, up as I curled into myself in Mr. Saporta’s lap, instinctively pressing against him for not only warmth, but comfort. My mind reeled with the events of the night, how comfortable I was in this moment and a small sigh slipped from my lips as I rested my head on his shoulder, my voice muffled slightly. “Thank you, Sir.”

 

I remained still and quiet, watching Mr. Saporta closely as he moved, gathering me in his arms once I was free of my bindings and settling with me on the small couch opposite the men that still stood silent. His touch was gentle and practiced, deftly easing the slight sting that the cuffs had caused. The aloe he had procured from a small table was was cool and soothing against my skin and I could see the redness, the slight abrasions and just a faint hint of purple blossoming beneath his touch. I had always bruised easily, but it rarely hurt, oftentimes an instance of something looking much worse than it was. I felt light, not only physically but mentally, as I was easily shifted and moved, the touches on my skin nearly reverent. 

“You were magnificent, Charleigh.” There was something akin to pride in Mr. Saporta’s voice and my smile was small but genuine at the quiet words and I pressed my heated face against his neck as lips brushed against my shoulder. 

" Thank you, Sir. For everything. I didn’t realize I could… but I am sorry that I couldn’t.” The babble was breathy and broken as I still stumbled to keep breathing evenly, finally peeking up at the men we now faced, my curious gaze going straight to Mr. Stump and finding his eyes calming, somehow. 

“You are capable of so much more than you may know, Carino, and as time passes, you will see that. Ifm that is, you choose to keep exploring this with me.” Gabriel’s words were spoken almost softly, his free hand rubbing small circles on my bare, lower back. There almost seemed an infection that was off, just a bit about his statement and I startled, looking back up at him.

The euphoria was slowly subsiding and I could feel a slight ache on my behind, the burn still fresh although not as painful as I would have once thought. I lay there, quiet and still as I listened to Mr. Saporta speak, his voice quiet, as I pondered his words. The soft endearment was not lost to me and brought a smile to my lips as I let my mind drift over the question, the ether finally clearing. 

" I would like that, very much Sir. " I spoke without hesitation feeling, like so many other times tonight, fully confident on my decision. It was one that seemed so easy at the moment, so right. I had no doubt in my mind that this was someplace that I belonged, that this life was what was meant for me, with more confidence than anything else. It was unwavering and sudden, simultaneously terrifying and calming, as I allowed the events of the night to come back into full focus, my voice quiet. " I have never felt more alive or myself as I did tonight, ever. It almost seemed to shift everything, the way I look not only at myself but at everything else. If that makes sense, Sir. I feel right here, whole in a sense. I’ve not ever been one to trust easily, ever, but giving that to you, in every sense of the word… it felt right, as trite as that may sound. “

The laugh I had heard earler tonight was back, a certain lightness that had disappeared from his voice and I couldn’t help but smile. “My dear, I would be honored to continue this journey with you and teach you all that I know.” Again, there was something there I couldn’t quite wrap my head around, but that was pushed aside for the moment. 

“I would like that, Sir, very much. "The words came out before I had time to think them through, although I did not have even the slightest doubt about them. I had never felt more safe or more exposed as I had during my brief time here, and that juxtaposition was nearly intoxicating. I’d had the slightest taste of this world and I wanted, I needed, to submerge myself in it, to drink it in and learn all that I could. Gabriel’s hands were strong and warm as they slipped over my bare skin and I could feel myself relaxing almost as a reflex under his touch. " Thank you for taking a chance on me, Sir. " My voice was quiet, little more than a whisper, but I knew that with as close as we were at the moment, he would hear them without an issue. 

“The pleasure is all mine, Carino, truly.” I could feel the smile against the top of my head as Mr. Saporta looked down at me, a hand stroking over my cheek. “The number I gave you, you may use it at anytime, alright?? Day or night.” 

The fingers under my chin were firm but gentle and I was taken aback slightly as I met Mr. Saporta’s gaze again. My mind went black for a moment as I lost myself in the depths of his eyes, so different from the pale blue gaze that I had held only moments ago. I had an unknown yearning to experience the knowledge and mysteries that they held. "Yes, Sir, I understand. Thank you. " It was as honest as anything I have ever said, the simple phrase teaming with an undercurrent of excitement and tinged with just a bit of desire. I wanted, needed, to know more, to feel more and the man beside me, holding me so gently was the one who could teach me.


	4. Chapter Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A brief interlude...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew. Okay, last chapter was INTENSE. So.... have a little bit of a break. A little fun, a little peek at something outside the club... and some new faces. 
> 
>  
> 
> As always, unbetaed. You know the drill. Mistakes are mine and I have an isntant gratification problem. 
> 
> This little bit made me happy, very. Also on the list of things that make me happy? Comments and kudos. It is true. And if you can't or don't want to leave one here, I will always chat over at AllKindsOfPlatinumAndPercocet on tumblr. 
> 
> For Flames_And_Jade cause she is joy. 
> 
> All the thanks to SnitchesAndTalkers for being my biggest cheerleader. 
> 
> Aural pleasure this chapter is James Vincent McMorrow's cover of Wicked Game. 
> 
>  
> 
> Thank you all so much for taking the tine to read!

No, Hayley. You are cutting it short. "The words were far harsher than I intended and I immediately felt sorry for the young woman at whom they were directed as I watched her face fall. I had been on the receiving end of the same tone, the same words more than once in my life and they were never easy to hear. Smiling softly, I shrugged out of my sweater, draping it across the piano bench, the black blending in with the glossy wood. I had cast a quick glance at my wrists as I discarded the garment. In the weeks since I had left Flame for the first time, those first light bruises had been replaced in near triplicate visit after visit. The slight abrasions had begun to heal, fading from pale purple to mottled and green. Those that were unseen, however, were a different story, my behind and thighs still bearing streaks of red and purple from the leather of Mr. Saporta and whichever of the myriad of tools he had chosen to indulge in each visit. After that first day, I had taken to wearing black tights to keep my young charges from having too many questions. 

The leather was a constant, as sure as the sun as I walked in through the doors, and I found myself warming to the familiar scent. The other constant, aside from Mr. Saporta himself, had been his audience, although it tended to vary from visit to visit. Mr. Weekes, Mr. Black and Mistress Claret had joined the ranks of the original four dominants that watched Mr. Saporta and I scene. No one ever spoke, not aside from informal pleasantries, save for from Mr. Stump’s words on the first night. He was another constant, sure as sin, every visit. He stood quiet and almost serene in the same spot against the wall, eyes that seemed to swim between blue and green, focused on the proceedings with a nearly exhausting intensity. 

I had been in a bit of a daze since I had exited through those gleaming doors for the first time, and each visit after. Everything had seemed just a little bit sharper, almost surreal as I’d stepped out into the bustling strip. I knew, somewhere, that everything on the outside was still the same, nothing would ever change Vegas, but I… I was different. That shift inside me, that previously unknown knowledge, that spark within me had been lit and it burned furiously. I knew, logically, that I hadn’t changed, that I was still the same on the outside, albit more colorful, but beneath the surface… I had been shown something that I had never known existed, been pushed to places that I didn’t think I was capable of going and I not only had I liked it, but I craved it, literally. It was not just physical, although I would never admit that part was anything less than amazing; but rather that emotional step, giving myself over to him with no reservations or hesitations, pleasing him because I wanted to do so, knowing that giving myself over to him in every sense was a choice that I willingly and eagerly made. And the beauty in that, the overwhelming dichotomy of simplicity actions and complex emotions, I craved it again. 

I shook my head slightly to pull myself out of the slight delirium that I had stumbled into only when I remembered where I was and my cheeks were kissed with pink as I met the gazes of two very confused dancers.

It was early, as was my preference, but the studio was already warm, a thin glaze of condensation having formed on the windows thanks to the work of the two students that I had joining me today and the raging storm outside. They weren’t mine but I was filling in for a choreographer that had an unexpected trip out of town, as a personal favor to him. The two had a competition coming up in less than two weeks and they could not miss the studio time right now.

Technically, the routine was flawless, each turn and lift perfect but there was just something missing. That element that set a good dance apart from a great one, that could push it over the top from being lovely to being awe-inspiring. 

" Take it from the top. " I grabbed the remote for the sound system and slid down the wall of mirrors at the front of the room, black clad legs stretched out in front of me as I kept an appraising eye on the dancers as they found their places at the beginning of the number before starting the music. 

I watched, absorbing the movements and counting each step silently in my head, trying to pinpoint what it was that was missing. I watched each step and turn in kind, processing them as individual elements as well as a sum of their parts in order to find that which seemed to elude me. " Stop! " The word was sharp and loud, almost jarring over the delicate lyrics of the song and both Hayley and Brendon looked at me, eyes wide. I let the music continue to play on a loop as I stood and pressed my feet against the floor to stretch my arches, the bones popping blissfully in my soft shoes. "Hayley, have a seat and just watch for a moment, please” The girl nodded, worry written all over her delicate face and I gave her a small, reassuring smile. "It’s alright, I promise. You are technically perfect but something is holding you back. I promise, it’s alright.” The girl’s smile was hesitant but there, which I took as good sign before turning back to her partner. I had known Brendon for a long time, and had even partnered with him at one point, although it had been nearly two years. He was an exquisite dancer, technically as well as emotionally and it was always a joy to be able to dance with him. 

"Start with the over the shoulder lift from first arabesque.” He gave a small nod and I closed my eyes for a moment to center myself before raising my leg behind me, my toe pointed. It was not a difficult lift for me, all I had to do was hold my position for the most part while Brendon easily lifted me over his shoulder before returning me to the floor. That was not the issue. As soon as my foot hit the floor after the lift, I sank to my knees as he lept across the studio. This was the issue that Hayley was having, not the lift, per se, but the leap after it. I easily pushed myself up, arching my back to keep touching the floor as long as possible before turning to face Brendon. A quick breath, just a brief moment of eye contact and I ran, bounding across the floor for one, two, three steps, before pushing against the hardwood with all my strength and leaping through the air, his arms catching me moments before I hit the floor. I righted myself carefully and turned my attention to Hayley, her eyes wide. "What did I do that you have been holding yourself back from?" My voice was quiet as I sat in front of her, gentle and just slightly pressing for her to find the answer.

“I don’t… I’ve never been able to do that.” The words that echoed in my head were not hers, they weren’t even mine, but they were ones I would never forget, the low timbre and barest hint of an accent that nearly gave me chills. "Hayley, you need to trust him, with everything in you. He won’t let you fall. His job is to catch you, to make sure that you land safely but unless you give him that trust, which he has beyond earned, you are preventing him from doing it. You have got to let go and believe, not only in him, but in yourself that you will land how you are supposed to. " The music had stopped while I was speaking and the two younger dancers were looking at me with more than a bit of confusion on their faces. My own cheeks flamed and I shook my head, tucking that errant strand of hair back behind my ear. 

"Why don’t you guys take ten, get some water and just regroup for a few minutes. Go on, get some water. " I didn’t wait for either of them to move before I headed towards my bag, fishing my phone from it’s depths and heading out the back door. It was pouring, the rain cool and refreshing against my heated skin as I stepped out from under the awning, phone pressed to my ear. I could barely hear the ring over the thunder that raged overhead but when the familiar voice answered, even only in a message, I felt a chill run down my spine that had nothing to do with the water that was running off my soaked skin in streams and I had to fight to find my voice as I left a message. "Good morning, Sir…”


	5. Chapter Five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The opposite of falling and a performance... or two.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't have an excuse. I do, however, have a problem in that I can't stop updating. I blame SnitchesAndTalkers for her devilsh encouragement. She is too good to me. 
> 
> Encouragement, comments and kudos are like crack, y'all. I so badly want to know what you all think of this flight of fancy. Honestly, the feedback is what I live for and helps me make this a better story for you. Pretty please with a cherry on top? 
> 
>  
> 
> Thos chapter... I finished editing and thought 'Im done!" And then I went to post and started making changes... and it got intense. It has not been betad cause I am me. 
> 
> As always, for Flames_And_Jade in belated celebration of her birth. I am so happy you exist. 
> 
> Truffles and pre-hiatus Patrick pics go to SnitchesAndTalkers for being the vouce of reason. 
> 
> Aural Pleasure for this chapter is Fallingforyou by The 1975. Turn it on repeat and just... listen. 
> 
> Thank you so much to everyone who has taken the time to read this rapidly out of control tale. I hope you enjoy even as things get more intense.

After what seemed like endless days of storms and more than a few flickers of power, the skies had finally cleared with a vengeance and the heavy, cool clouds were replaced with blinding sun and blue skies as far as the eye could see. As nice as it looked from inside my apartment, and it was nothing short of picturesque, being outside was a whole other matter entirely. 

The air was sticky and so thick with humidity I could taste it. Even my flowy dress and light pink cardigan felt nearly stifling in the heat and errant strands of hair that had slipped from my messy bun were already stuck to the back of my neck. The cracked asphalt shimmered with the heat that reflected off of it and tourists of every ilk and state of dress were out, en masse, slurping from insanely large cups of soda or spritzing themselves with novelty fans purported to beat the stifling early summer heat. 

It was all a joke, of course, a prettily packaged tourist trap to increase revenue. As much as I loved it here, the energy and anonymity of this town, the heat got real old, real fast. It was the polar opposite of Boston and I found myself wishing, as I carefully dodged a chubby child on a leash, for the relative coolness of the cobblestone streets. 

I kept my head down as I walked, the route already committed to memory, in a vain attempt to avoid eye contact although it would be very difficult to actually see anyone behind my dark sunglasses. They had been one of my first purchases after leaving the airport, although whether for practicality or anonymity, I still was not quite sure. On a day like today though, when the skyline seemed almost obscene compared to the cloudless, pure blue of the sky, it seemed like a little of both. 

I stopped on the sidewalk, glancing at the glistening lacquer over the top of my sunglasses, and felt a small chill, despite the heat. Unlike my first face off with the doors, I know knew what secrets and pleasures hid behind them and it took all of my strength not to jump up the stairs. Fishing my key card from my bag, I shifted the entire bundle to my other shoulder and watched, still on edge as the tiny light flashed from red to green and I heard the automatic click of the lock. 

Inside was such a drastic contrast to outside that I stopped for a moment, blinking at the darkness as my eyes adjusted and I slid my sunglasses up on my head, mentally congratulating myself for wearing my contacts this time. The air was cool, very nearly uncomfortably so, but it felt divine on my sun warmed skin as I leaned against the wall and took a deep breath, my eyes darting around the vast lobby as I waited for Mr. Saporta to appear. 

The receptionist, her black pigtails and red lipstick perfectly in place, glanced up at me with a warm smile and trickled her fingers in a wave which I returned in kind. I’d not had the chance to talk with her much over the last few months, but what conversations we did have were always pleasant and I appreciated the company in the otherwise empty expanse of space on this afternoon

“Good afternoon, Carino” 

I heard his footsteps before his voice and I snapped my head up with a warm, genuine, smile. I had somehow expected the club to look different in the light of day but why I could not say. Shifting my bag from one shoulder to the other, I cross the space to stand before Mr. Saporta, both eager and anxious at the same time, although I liked to kid myself that I hid it well. " Good afternoon, Sir. It’s a pleasure to see you again.” We had spoken for a brief period on the phone, and I had shared a bit more information about myself although he remained something of an enigma to me, though only in the best of ways and I yearned to learn more. I was still so very new to this world and the way that it worked, but I knew, with all that was in me, that I had chosen the right person to lead me on my path. I shifted my weight from one foot to the other in my flats, the soft silver reflecting in the dim light, and mentally chided myself not to fidget.

Mr. Saporta carefully took my hand and pressed a kiss to the tender inside of my wrist, his lips curling into a smile against my skin. “The pleasure is all mine, Miss Gabriel.” Straightening up, I watched dark eyes drift to the bag at my side and the small smile widened. “I trust you have brought what I asked?” At my nod, Gabriel gestured down the now familiar hall towards his office. “After you.” The bag was light as I slung it over my shoulder, containing less than half of it’s usual haul but somehow it seemed to weigh more today. My free hand fell to my side and I quickly smoothed an invisible wrinkle in my skirt as I followed behind Mr. Saporta. 

" Thank you, Sir. I appreciate you seeing me on such short notice.” My voice was quieter than usual although the sound seemed to echo in the relative emptiness of the club as we headed towards the corridor of personalized doors. I felt a slight stirring in my belly as the cobra on the door came back into view and I held my steps back, just a bit, staying behind Mr. Saporta as I twisted a stray lock of hair between my fingers. It is removed with a gentle hand and a small cluck of a tongue. I enter in silence, my eyes darting around the lavish room, the memories of my last visit coming to play fast and vivid across my memory. There has been the addition of a second settee since the first time I came, provided for the sake of the constant audience. Today, the space was taken by Mr. Wentz, Mr. Weekes and Mr. Stump, all of whom gave me warm smiles.   
“May I see what you have brought, Carino?” Gabriel had settled onto the couch that had been pushed against the mirror, stretching his long expanse of leg out as he relaxed against the arm. 

 

I loosened my grip on the bag and unzipped it, revealing the layers of white froth and pale pink satin that were nestled so carefully inside. I fought to keep my gaze ahead, trained on Mr. Saporta as I spoke despite the urge to let my gaze wander. It was a conundrum, and one of the sweetest I had encountered. My hands fuss with the layers of tulle and chiffon as I gently pull the skirt from my bag and shake it out softly before holding it up for inspection.. " Is it alright, Sir?”

Familiar eyes twinkled as they examined the mess of fabric in my hands with a perfunctory nod. “It is perfect, Miss Gabriel, as always.” There was the slightest crack in his voice on the last word, but it was quickly pushed out of my mind as he continued. “If you would like to go and get changed, I can queue your music, Sweet Girl. And keep the door open, just a bit please.” 

 

The endearment, as always, brought a grin to my face and I nod silently, gathering up my belongings.” I will, thank you Sir. I should only be a few minutes.” Head down, I quickly headed towards the door that Mr. Saporta had gestured to and duck behind it, keeping it cracked just a bit and casting a quick glance at the usual audience as I settled down to change 

There was a process to dressing, at least for me, a certain ceremony and order that transformed it from something mundane to special. Stripping off my street clothes quickly, I stepped into a pale blue leotard, the back criss-crossed with a dozen tiny straps. It was chilly, at the moment anyway, although I knew from experience that it would heat up quickly, and not simply because I was dancing. My shoes were next, and although the process was drawn out, it was what worked for me. Tape, bandaids, lambs wool and gel toe pads were all meticulously put in place before I even dared slide my foot into the slightly worn and perfectly broken in satin shoe, quickly tying the ribbons into a tiny knot at my ankle and tucking the tails in. I repeated the process on the other foot, adding an extra length of tape along my right arch before stepping into the tutu. It was light as air and floated gracefully, falling down to mid shin once it was tightly hooked around my waist. I twisted my hair into a quick bun, slipping an extra decorative pin in to hold it in place and then let out a long breath, catching my reflection in the mirror. My hands betrayed me more than I wanted to admit, and I twisted them into the delicate folds of my skirt as I turned to head back to the main room, my heart pounding in my chest as I stepped out of the small bathroom. “Sir?” 

I could feel more than see the four sets of eyes on me as I stood and my cheeks warmed under the combined gazes, although I could not place why. Mr. Saporta’s grin was wide and he pushed himself upright as his gaze traveled over me from tip to toe. 

“Beautiful, Charleigh. Would you dance for us?” There was a lightness to the question, an almost youthful innocence that seemed incongruent with what I had learned of Mr. Saporta over the last few months, but I smiled and nodded, my eyes flicking to the mirror for the briefest of moments before there was a click and the opening notes of my favorite song. 

“I would be honored, Sir.” The words were very quiet, nearly inaudible over the music and they were the last that slipped from my lips as I turned easily, my eyes closing. 

I stood still for a moment, counting the music silently in my head before I started to move; slowly, delicately rising en pointe, the miniscule bourrees barely turning my back away from Mr. Saporta to face the three gentlemen on the couch across from him. I let my gaze travel, just for a moment to meet Mr. Stump’s. I could feel his eyes on me, that was nothing new, but the way he looked at me; the depth and honesty behind his gaze… it sent shivers down my spine even as I turned to glide away.

The moves were instinctual, perhaps not technically perfect, but they were honest and true, I felt them from the top of my head to the tips of my toes as I turned and jumped across the floor, they were mine and mine alone, each step and combination previously unknown to me. I did what felt right, and lost myself in the music, the lightness of the dance. It wasn’t a common occurance for me to have that simple luxury. So often in this life everything is so staunchly choreographed and regimented that any bit of individuality was not necessarily snuffed out, but it was frowned upon. Being able to just… be one with the music and to give myself over to it, in the presence of another was an amazing feeling. I kept moving, twirling and bending until the music began to trail off, at which point I carefully, delicately glided towards Mr. Saporta, never dropping my gaze, and lowered myself to the floor, my head bowed and hands resting in my lap.

There was the lightest smattering of applause as the music died off, and I felt Gabriel’s hand brush over my head before trailing down my neck to rest between my shoulder blades. “Beautiful, My Girl, Beautiful. Now. This needs to come off please. Shoes and skirt can stay on”. 

My chest was still heaving as I stood, whether from exertion or nerves, I was not sure, but I kept my head down, straightening my spine and looking up only as fingers brushed across the bare skin of my back, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake as they twisted the multitude of straps, pulling them taut before releasing them with a snap. I could almost hear the smile in his voice as he spoke, the kind words bringing both a sense of contentment and pride deep within me. I had pleased him. And then, in a flash, he was gone, the last directive ringing loudly in my ears. I glanced at him only for a moment over my shoulder as he crossed to one of the myriad of shelves, turning my back once again to focus on getting out of my garment. 

The leotard, while lovely, was a bit difficult to maneuver out of, although I’d had a considerable amount of practice and less than a minute later, I had the garment folded easily and was re-hooking the skirt around my waist. 

As I stood, clad in little more than chiffon and satin, I felt beautiful and exposed, but only in the best of ways. That freedom from the impromptu performance had carried over and I was flush and eager to see what was coming next. " Thank you for your kind words, Sir, that means more to me than I can say and I am so pleased that you enjoyed it.”

“I more than enjoyed it, Carino, and I fully intend on enjoying more of you as well. But today, however, I am afraid I am a bit out of my wheelhouse. Do you mind if we have some additional assistance?” Gabriel’s hands danced over my torso as he spoke, teasing over skin that is already warm from exertion. 

The question caught me off guard, but my answer was automatic all the same and I shook my head assuredly. “Of course not, Sir. Whatever you think is necessary.” My reply was brief and I was gifted the lightest brush of lips across my temple in response before he turned from me and I followed his gaze as he stretched out the rope in his hand. 

“Patrick, if you wouldn’t mind? What we discussed will work right?” My eyes widened and my breath hitched just slightly as I saw Mr. Stump -Patrick- rise from his place on the couch and take the proffered cords of rope from Gabriel before his blue eyes were back on me, his expression thoughtful as he glanced from my feet up to the ceiling above me. I could almost see him calculating angles as he twisted the rope in sure hands. 

“It will, Saporta.” I had only heard Mr. Stump’s voice once but there was something in the rich timbre that I found immensely calming. Blue eyes moved from Gabriel to meet my own, soft and kind behind thick framed dark glasses. “May I touch you, Miss Gabriel?” The question was quiet, almost hesitant, miles from any that Mr. Saporta may have asked, but just as important. 

“Of course, Mr. Stump.” My voice is quiet as I answer, my head dropping down out of curiosity. 

“Thank you A- Miss Gabriel.” There is a stutter to Mr. Stump’s words as he trips over them slightly and his smile falters for the briefest of moments before beginning to work. I couldn’t help but watch him, skilled fingers pale against the soft blue rope as he wrapped it tight, again and again, around my chest so carefully. His fingertips just barely grazed the delicate skin that was stretched over my ribs. 

Mr. Saporta stood behind me, his large hand braced against my waist as he muttered against my skin and pressed himself tightly against my back while Mr. Stump worked with his ropes just above my navel. I tried, to no avail, to steady my breathing as Gabriel’s familiar fingers brushed and teased over bare skin and barely bit back a whimper. 

I was off balance, not only physically but mentally and I allow myself a moment to just be, give in and revel in the feeling of being supported so fully, in every way. I couldn’t calm my breaths, anticipation and curiosity combining to make each one slightly deeper than the last. 

"I am so enjoying myself today, Charleigh" It isn’t until he speaks, quiet and gruff against my ear, just a bit of stubble scratching against my sensitive skin, that my willpower breaks and I squeak softly, trembling as his hand slides teasingly down my torso, batting Mr. Stump’s hands out of the way and earning a sharp glance for it. " I am yours to enjoy, Sir.” The words, even though they were in my own husky, low voice, sounded almost foreign to my ears and yet I couldn’t think of another statement that could have possibly been more true. Mr. Saporta’s hand works under the tight waistband of my tutu down between my legs, teasing over the sensitive flesh at the apex of my thighs. My gasp is sudden and soft and I fight to keep myself still, shifting my hips forward just slightly into Mr. Saporta’s fingers. 

“And this, Charleigh? Whose is this?” The gentle touches quickly turnes into so much more; strong fingers delving into where I was already wet, twisting and and crooking in the exact way he knew would send sparks of need racing through me. The shift very nearly threw me off balance and I shivered, leaning back against him as I fought for my voice, pushing the words out around the moan that stuck in my throat. 

“Yours, Sir.” The words were low and breathy, my eyes drifting shut as I willed myself to relax. This was not about sex, not in the slightest, and I knew that although my body seemed to betray me just a bit. It was so very much more than that; It was about trust, in all aspects of the word, about giving myself over to him and knowing, without a doubt in my mind, that I was safe. It was a feeling that I was unaccustomed to, nearly non-existent outside of this room, but one that was quickly becoming addicting. There was the slightest click in Mr. Stump’s throat at my side and his hands shook almost imperceptibly as he finished the last knot with a flourish, fingers barely grazing my back as they tucked and secured the blue rope. 

“Such a good girl. You are so beautifully eager.” Mr. Saporta’s voice was nearly a purr and his chin brushed against my head as he turned to look at Mr. Stump again. “The hooks, Patrick?” 

“You need to move for me to continue, Saporta.” There was an edge of anger in Mr. Stump’s voice and I felt the chuckle in Gabriel’s chest as he gave a last tease of his fingers before slipping his hand from my waistband.

“Of course, you’ll have to beg my forgiveness, I may have gotten a bit carried away. My Charleigh can be a bit distracting, can’t she?” I felt the cold air that was pumped from overhead kiss my heated skin as Gabriel stepped away, glee evident in his tone as he lifted his fingers to his mouth and closed his lips around one of the two that had just been between my legs, dragging it out with an obscene pop, his dark eyes holding the shorter man’s gaze as a litany of unspoken words passed between them. Mr. Saporta’s lips quirked into a smirk and he repeated the process with his middle finger pink tongue showily swirling over the tanned skin. 

My cheeks flushed at the display playing out before me even as I wanted to look away. 

Mr. Stump didn’t reply verbally, but there was something hard and powerful behind his eyes and he simply tilted his chin upwards with his jaw set tight as though he was physically biting back his words. There was a soft squeaking of hinges and a quiet sigh as Mr. Stump’s hand rested on my waist, partially on the satin waistband of my tutu and partially on my heated and slightly sweat slick skin to hold me still. “This may be a bit cold.” The words were a whisper, meant for my ears alone and warm breath ghosted over my neck as a shock of metal brushed behind the ropes at my back. I sucked in a soft gasp as I adjusted to the chilly clip, keeping my head down and ignoring the soft, warm pressure of calloused fingertips as Mr. Stump worked. “Thank you.” I could barely hear Mr. Stump as he stepped back, his fingers pressing tenderly against the small of my back for the briefest of moments before the five points of warmth vanished and he returned back to the settee. 

I had very little time to process before Mr. Saporta returned, his lips to my ear. “Good Girl. Now, up on your toes for me.”

I rose carefully, easily onto the flattened tips of my shoes, my feet sliding into fifth position, pressing my thighs together, the movement nearly automatic. At one point, years ago, almost too long to remember, the act caused pain, when my toes were still delicate and tender but now, after so many years of training and practice, it was beyond normal, almost more comfortable than being on flat feet. My arms lay carefully at my sides, fingers rounded by habit more than effort and I swallowed as I opened my eyes. " Yes, Sir. Is this acceptable?”

Mr. Saporta didn’t respond verbally, instead pulling on what must have been the support ropes as they lifted me up higher into the air, my back arched against the resistance. 

“Perfect, Charleigh. Now don’t you dare move.” 

I can’t hide the gasp that slips from my lips as the ropes around my body go taut again, pulling me just a bit higher, the flat toes of my shoes dragging against the hardwood. It was not as unusual as I may have thought, the support from the braided cords mimicking, in an odd way, those of a pair of hands during a pas de deux. I trusted in them, their strength and support, but more so, and inexplicably, I trusted the man who had so skillfully tied the series of knots and took an instant to look over at the man as he sat on stiff beside Mr. Wentz. 

Biting back a small whimper as Mr. Saporta grazes his teeth over the exposed skin of my neck, I close my eyes and focus on my form. My muscles relax just a bit as my body acclimates to the new position: my back is curved in a delicate arc, my head hanging, not loose but effortlessly and my arms fell behind me almost instinctively. I can’t see Mr. Saporta, not at the moment, but I can hear his shoes on the floor and the soft click just before the music starts again.

His hand is gentle though firm as he gives me the slightest of pushes and I sway, easily through the air in perfect time with the music that drifts to my ears. I don’t move, my muscles instead freezing into position as I allow myself to drift slowly to the beautiful melody. 

The strike takes me slightly off guard and I suck in a sharp breath, more from surprise than pain as I swing softly. It is almost euphoric, the feeling of weightlessness and the slight sting of the strike against my bare skin. I jump just a bit, involuntarily at the second strike, although it was expected, somewhere in my mind, and I feel my breath hitch even as I sway from the ropes, my toes skirting across the floor. 

The feeling that flows through me is both new and older than myself as I am cradled by the pale blue knots, clad in little more than a few swaths of tulle. I have never felt more free or more known as I did in this moment, even as I feel the bite of the flogger against my skin. It is a welcome sting, one that I embrace wholly, as I relax against the ropes, keeping my feet pointed and back arched but otherwise allowing myself to simply be. 

 

Each subsequent strike of the leather leaves a trail of fire in its wake, spreading across my sensitive skin in the most beautiful ache. I don’t move, don’t make a sound, my bottom lip clasped firmly between my teeth as I sway. The slight tearing of the hook and eye closure of the tulle and satin confection that had provided my only cover echoes in my ears and I mourn, for just an instant, it’s loss before turning my attention back to the leather that is striking my skin. 

From my position in the air, gliding back and forth, I can’t see him but for a few moments; brief flashes of an arm of the dark fabric of a pant leg, but I can sense him. As though something in him calls to me, even without knowing what it is. I let my eyes close softly, focusing instead on my other senses. The music flowing from the speakers, the whoosh of leather through the air and the beautiful pain that explodes when it hits my tender skin, losing myself in the moment. 

Large, strong hands rest on my hips and guide my movements and bend easily with them. I can feel the blush even in the cool air, the ropes that bound me still swinging just slightly, rocking my torso even as my legs wrap tightly around Mr. Saporta’s waist. The burning sting from the flogger is replaced with something else entirely as his hand slips back between my legs, teasing and pulling more from me than I had anticipated. 

My breath catches, the subtle, controlled pants quickly escalating to frenzied gasps with each stroke of strong fingers, punctured by breathy moans of pleasure as I struggled to focus. The sensation is nearly overwhelming and I ball my hands into fists hanging limply behind me, my hips moving in time with each stroke and curl of the fingers that slid easily inside of me. It was mind boggling, the ease with which this man was able to pull things from me. A touch, a whisper, even just a glance and I was ready to do exactly as he asked. I trusted him with all that I was and I could not refuse him anything. 

“Come for me, Carino” When the low whisper drifted to my ears, complete with the endearment that made my stomach flutter, wanted, wanted, wanted with everything in me to comply and I shook with the effort, the need to simply please. My gasps turned to soft cries as I worked myself against his hand, each movement pushing me closer and closer to that edge that had always seemed so difficult to get to pass. One last pull of my legs, locking them tight around Mr. Saporta’s waist and drawing him as close as I could given my current suspended position and I should have been gone… but I wasn’t. Frustration mounted again, bubbling up in my belly like something black and toxic, even as Mr. Saporta whispered against my ear, his free hand coming, as always, to clasp over my throat. “You can do it, Charleigh. Come for me, Girl. Show me how perfectly you can follow my directions.” The encouragement was muttered against my heated skin and I tried, rocking and pushing with each word. I could feel that release building in me, just below the frustration and shame. My breath caught on a sob as I forced my eyes open, meeting Mr. Stump’s gaze across the room as broken words fell from my lips along with a few tears down my cheeks.

“I want to, Sir but I just… can’t” Another failure and more tears, the same as each time before. Gabriel mutters soft assurances, rubbing the skin of my lower back as he steps away, his strong hand slipping from between my legs. “It’s okay, Carino. It is okay. You’ll get there.” 

It took more than a moment for my head to clear and sensation to return to my limbs even as my heart pounded in my ears and I went limp against the ropes that still held me aloft, although I could feel Mr. Saporta’s hand gently supporting me, the touch light even as I trembled and shook, shocks shooting through me. I gasped for breath, my eyes closed and struggled for an instant, the ropes still tight around my chest. The brief moment of panic was eased quickly by the tender touch of a hand along the planes of my abdomen, fingers sliding carefully over the tender and hot marks left from the flogger strikes. It was an exquisite burn, the reminder just enough that I started to come down, the sting grounding me, as it were. 

Opening my eyes, I raised my head to take in the sight before me and smiled softly, my skin flushed with heat from both the quiet praise and the exertion of only moments before. My arms hung limp behind me, but my legs stayed tight, wrapped around the waist of the man who spoke so quietly, the praise just loud enough for me to hear over the music and whir of blood rushing in my ears. I swallowed hard, my throat parched from the cries that had rung in the air and stumbled slightly over my words, my breath slowing to near normal.. " T-thank you, Sir. 

“Of course, Charleigh.” My legs fell from around his waist as Mr. Saporta stepped away and I glanced up to see him crossing the room towards the couch, casting a glance to the redheaded man sitting on the end. “Patrick, could you?” No other words were spoken as he spoke in hushed tones to Mr. Iero and Mr. Stump crossed the room back to where I was still suspended, bare and raw. I could feel, even without looking, Mr. Wentz’ intense eyes on me as well, but my tired mind was far too gone to ponder the implications. 

“I need to touch you again, is that alright?” Mr. Stump’s voice was gentle and low, soothing in a way I hadn’t even realized I needed and I nodded once. “Thank you, Miss Gabriel.” The words, as seemed to be his custom, were quiet and delivered just moments before fingers lightly ghosted over my heated skin, earning a small whimper as they touched a particularly sensitive welt from the flogger. The tremor did not go unnoticed and the same finger smoothed hesitantly, comfortingly beneath the bottom of the ropes to grasp the metal hook. “I’m sorry.” 

The whispered apology had just barely registered when the metal clasp was opened under deft fingers. I winced just slightly at the careful drop in the ropes that held me suspended and I went immediately limp against Mr. Stump, my legs still shaking as I focused on my breath. His movements were fluid and gentle, cradling me carefully as we crossed to the couch that Gabriel had been occupying earlier. I settled easily against the luxe fabric and finally opened my eyes as Mr. Stump knelt beside me. The ropes around my chest stung, biting into my skin with each breath, although the pain was far from unbearable and the euphoria and frustration that was still causing my head to swim provided a beautiful counterpoint. 

The voice was soft and quiet, blue eyes that somehow seemed nearly green at this angle, meeting my own as he spoke. “I’m going to untie you, alright?” I gave another silent nod and shifted to sit up, watching with a hazy gaze as he worked, his lower lip clasped between his teeth as he focused. Strong fingers quickly unbound me, the ropes falling to the floor, and I took a deep breath reveling in both the freedom that I had in the moment and the slight twinge of disappointment at the same fact. “You did so well.” The last words were whispered and I glanced up, the slightest hint of a smile pulling at my lips before Mr. Stump gathered the ropes and vanished back to his spot. I could hear the quiet words, whispered so softly against my ear, warm breath caressing my skin, and I smiled softly, as my head rested against Mr. Saporta’s chest when he slipped behind me. My eyes closed in relaxation as strong fingers worked into my hair, the pins slipping out of the strands as they were raked out, falling cooly onto my heated skin.

“You were lovely, Charleigh, truly.”  
I tilt my head back, my cheeks flushing with both pride and a smidgen of embarrassment at the gentle words. " Thank you, Sir." My voice is soft as I close my eyes for just a moment as the whispered words swim around in my mind. Compliments were something that had never been lacking in my life, between dancing and fairly good genetics, but they all seemed to pale somewhat in comparison. It felt almost as though in the past I had been not searching for the words of praise, but doing what I did to earn them in part because it was expected of me. 

Here though, settling into the strong arms and basking in the kind gaze and words of this man, I felt different, as though I had, for the first time, done something truly worthy of the praise. Instead of acting for others, making my choices and decisions to please them, this moment, as all of the ones I had experienced with Mr. Saporta had been about doing what I wanted to do, on my own terms even if they had been for him. It was more of a step forward than I could have ever imagined myself taking and in so many ways. My voice wavered slightly with emotion as I met Mr. Saporta’s eyes, my face warm. " Thank you, Sir. I… just thank you. I’m I didn’t disappoint you. . 

“You couldn’t Carino, not even if you tried. How do you feel?” Gabriel’s hands pulled through my hair gently and I sat quiet for the moment, pondering the seemingly simple question. As with most things, it was not what it seemed and there was no easy way to answer, possibly because I did not know myself. 

I relaxed easily into the arms of the man who held me so tenderly and gave a small sigh before speaking, weighing my words carefully even though each one was more true than the last. " I’m alright, a little bit sore but it is nothing that won’t fade in time. It sounds strange, with everything that I have done in my life, but I’ve never been able or willing to push myself, physically or mentally, the way that I have when I am here. " I pause for a moment, my fingers twirling a lock of hair absently. "The trust that I have, that faith in you… it is something that I have never been able to find within myself but in sharing that, in… allowing myself that vulnerability and turning myself over, in every aspect to you, it has instilled something in me that I have never even thought possible.” I was babbling, the words falling from my lips quiet and measured yet holding the slightest twinge of nervousness. Yes I was naked, and not for the first time, in front of Mr. Saporta and his companions,, but somehow just being in this space, speaking so candidly, I felt more exposed than I had in the entirety of our time together, as though I was truly laid bare. It was such an unusual feeling that I wanted to pull into myself, retreat into the quiet of my own mind but I couldn’t, a part of me refused to allow that and I was oddly thankful. Instead, I tilted my head back and met Mr. Saporta’s eyes with a soft smile. " I tend to babble, I’m sorry. 

“What have I said about apologies? You can speak freely. And watching you learn give yourself over each time we meet is quickly becoming one of my favorite pastimes. You should know that.” There was a softness to Mr. Gabriel’s voice and Mm cheeks reddened again at his words, even as I feel a surge of pride, the emotion and reaction a direct contradiction and I listen to what he says, the comforting, measured tone going far to dispel the slight nerves.   
" Thank you, Sir, very much. I’m.. I don’t know what to expect, for one of the first times in my life, but that is somehow comforting if that makes any sense. I came from a place where what I would do and how I would do it was always so ingrained in me, and not just from ballet, in general. There were so many rules and restrictions. I almost.." Pause for a moment, shifting closer to Mr. Saporta as I shiver in the cool air. " I always felt like I was being put in a box on display, and I allowed it because it made people happy, and it made me happy too, at some points, but it wasn’t what I wanted, not truly. Here, even not knowing what is going to happen, or what comes next I feel… safe and eager for the first time in a very long time. And I thank you, again, for the faith you have in me, Sir, it means more than I can begin to describe.” 

Mr. Saporta seemed to ponder for a moment, his gaze darting around the room before he spoke again. “There is a certain beauty in rigid rules and structure, Girl, and although it may take us sometime to see it, I promise that it always comes out.” As he spoke, Gabriel draped a soft blanket over my naked form and I snuggled into it out of habit.

“That was such a beautiful way of phrasing it, Sir, truly. Even though my experience thus far has been limited, I tend to look at our time together as a dance, although that is how I view many things in life. I suppose we are in fact products of our own creation. In any case… it’s… amazing, truly. I know I keep saying that but it is true. Words have never been my strong suit, necessarily, but it helps to speak them sometimes.” Blowing out a soft breath, I arch my feet, the pink tips of my pointe shoes peeking out from beneath the hem of the blanket. "Thank you for letting me dance for you, Sir. I will be honest, I was more nervous than I have been on a stage in front of a thousand people. And yet, at the same time, I felt completely calm. I’m not sure how it is that happened but… I am thankful.”

I was gifted a soft smile and a warm embrace, with a kiss to my head in return and I nearly beamed as Gabriel trailed a hand down my leg. 

“The pleasure is all mine, Carino. Now perhaps we should get you more comfortable, hmm?” I could feel the gentle touch through the layers of satin and glue that covered my feet; it was nearly reverent and combined with the soft words and warm embrace had me feeling both calm and content. There was so much that remained unspoken behind Mr. Saporta’s words; a depth that was almost teased at on the surface and it intrigued me beyond measure. I found my curiosity piqued by so many things in this room, this life, and the man that was guiding me was not exempt from that. Stretching my sore arms, I stood carefully, clasping the blanket around me. 

" Thank you for that, I would be honored to dance for you any day, Sir, truly. Perhaps next time I can even prepare something specific, we shall see." I rose up en pointe for a moment, relishing in the slight burn of my muscles and the reignited warmth of the marks that spread along my torso. It was a beautiful burn, in every sense of the word. “ I think that would probably be a good idea, Sir.” My gaze drifted towards the torn pile of tulle that lay a few feet away and I crossed to retrieve it with a small smile on my face recalling the soft sound of the fabric tearing before it fluttered down to where it now sat. I was moving slower than I needed to, drawing out my steps to prolong the limited time that I still had in this world as long as I could as I headed towards the bathroom where my clothes lay. Pausing in the doorway, I glance back over my shoulder with a soft smile and regard Mr. Stump for the briefest of moments as I passed. " Thank you, Sir.” The words were little more than a whisper as I stepped into the next room and began to prepare to return to the bright light of the world outside. 

 

I changed quickly, wincing just a bit even as soft lace and chiffon brushed against the fresh marks on my skin from both the flogger and the rope. It was a strangely soothing kind of pain and I dressed as quickly as I could, replacing my dance garb in my bag and smiling as the satin and tulle disappeared behind the black zipper. I kept my feet bare for the moment, basking in the cool air on my raw toes and pulled my fingers through my hair as I stepped out of the bathroom, my bag slung over my shoulder and flats in hand. Though distant, I could hear the rumble of thunder overhead, the sound, as always, bringing a smile to my lips even as I let my gaze wander to Mr. Saporta. He looked completely put together again, no doubt a sharp contrast from my slightly rumpled state but it seemed… fitting somehow. Dropping my shoes to the floor, I stepped into them with the tiniest of smiles. " Is it strange that I hope I get caught in the storm on my way home, Sir?” The question brought a laugh from everyone in the room, myself included and I brushed my hair back off my shoulders. 

“Are you hoping to dance in the rain, Miss Gabriel?” The question was quick and came from Mr. Stump who had a smile on his face, despite the gaze that was fixed on Gabriel behind me as he offered me his arm. 

“ Every chance I can get, Sir.” My answer was quick and true, my smile bright as I accepted Gabriel’s arm and nodded my head as we exited his office. The walk was brief and silent save for the sounds of the storm growing overhead. I pondered Mr. Saporta’s words as we walked, they had been very simple and yet there almost seemed to be a bit of something else behind them, whether sadness or longing I could not tell, nor did I want to pry. I felt more than a bit of sadness at stepping out of the cool, doors back into the world outside but I knew that it would be short lived, and I turned to glance up at Mr. Saporta with a genuine smile.

When we finally reached the doors, Gabriel paused, a gentle smile forming and cupped my cheek, his thumb brushing over my cheekbone. “I’ll see you again soon, Carino.” 

 

The tilt of my head into Mr. Saporta's touch was automatic and I reveled in the simple gesture for a moment, my eyes closing as I listened to the approaching storm. A crash of thunder pulled me out of my reverie and I gave a small smile. " Thank you, Sir, again, for everything. And I do hope to be back soon.” The eagerness was evident in my voice as I rocked back on my heels, my eyes darting from where they were holding Mr. Saporta's gaze to the doors, gleaming in the low light. " I shouldn't take up any more of your time.” A slight tilt of my head was all it took, my lips just barely brushing against his palm before I turned and headed out, pausing to glance over my shoulder before I headed out just as the rain started to fall.


	6. Chapter Six

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A thing of beauty is a joy forever, right?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome back! 
> 
> First and foremost, Flames_And_Jade, I am excited you are you. THANK YOU FOR BEING BORN. 
> 
> Things are going to get a bit different for a minute here, but I hope you will stick with me. 
> 
> Questions, kudos and comments make my absolute day. I LOVE to know what people are thinking about this little ditty. 
> 
> As always, this is unbetad, although I have read it approximately eleventy-seven times. I am sure there are still mistakes. They are mine, I brought them from home. 
> 
> I am taking some artistic license with some elements of the lifestyle simply based on the characters, but I try to make sure I present it with integrity and respect. 
> 
> Major thanks to the outstanding SnitchesAndTalkers for listening to my EXTENSIVE babble and not judging my ridiculous. 
> 
> Im kind of astounded by the response this is getting, thank you all so much for taking the time to read. 
> 
> Aural Pleasure this round is 'Set the Fire To The Third Bar' by Snow Patrol and Martga Wainwright. Queue that on up.

My heels clicked in a sharp, staccato rhythm on the cracked asphalt as I made my way through the throngs of tourists that packed the sidewalks of the strip. There was something kind of obscenely surreal about Vegas just before sundown. Anywhere else, there would be actual darkness. Back in Boston, it was actually my favorite time of day. I would take every chance I got to step outside and watch the sun start to set behind the city, illuminating the skyline with rich oranges, pinks and dusky purples before fading into a beautiful, inky blackness as night cloaked the city. Here though… it was never night, not really. Everything was always electric and everyone was always up; working, gambling, people watching… something. It was so surreal, but I had come to adore it. As much as I loved Boston, and I always would, I had embraced Vegas for the simple anonymity of the city. I could easily lose myself in the crowd and there were never any cameras or people asking me about my father. Well, not unless my parents were in town which was mercifully infrequent. They would however, be on their way here in the next two weeks, I’d already received an itinerary for not only commencement but the days surrounding it. Because I obviously did not have anything else to do. 

The last few weeks had been almost maddeningly busy as I had wrapped up my course work and duties at the studio.. Once the final showcase was over, they closed their doors for a month for planning and any and all renovations that inevitably needed to happen, to say nothing of a bit of a break for the instructors. There was so much that had fallen to the wayside over the weeks, none of which I wanted to give up. But now that school was finally done- finally- I had some breathing room, and I knew exactly where I needed to be. The walk was beyond familiar at this point, and I kept my head down as I navigated through the bustling crowd. It wasn’t even dark yet and there seemed to be more of a charge in the air than usual. Sliding my black framed sunglasses up my nose, I kept my head down and my gaze on the bright red toes of my shoes. They may have been far too much for out here, but where I was heading, they were perfect. They had been sitting, untouched, for nearly a year and somehow it just seemed like the right time to wear them again. 

That familiar sense of excitement bubbled in my belly as soon as I caught sight of those doors, the magnificent red lacquer nearly glowing in the sunset. I always stopped in front of them before I entered, almost reverently, as though to thank them for what they had brought me. It was silly, and a part of me knew that, but that never changed. That zing of anticipation and the immediate sense of longing and awe that I’d felt the very first time I had laid my eyes on them never had really faded; if anything, it had only grown in time. Taking a deep breath, I climbed the granite steps and slid my keycard through the slot with a shaky hand, my breath caught until the light flashed to green and I could pull the door open. 

Walking through those doors was like stepping, quite literally, into another world, or falling down that proverbial rabbit hole, and I had jumped in head first. The contrast from the outside, was jarring on every level. The hot, humid air that hung like a blanket over the streets was replaced by artificially cold air that spilled from the vents above, the scents of sticky sweet spilled alcohol and people replaced with something cool and crisp while the blazing neon and sunlight gave way to darkness and tastefully concealed low light that seemed to keep everything in a beautiful state of elegant detachment. It was invigorating and disorienting all at once and I had forgotten how much I loved it. Adjusting the handles of my purse, I slipped my sunglasses into their case and let it drop into the depths as I blinked, my eyes adjusting to the dim lights. The receptionist gave me a small knowing smile and I returned it in kind as I ran my hands over my hair. It hung free tonight, falling nearly to my waist in loose curls. The weight felt good and I was almost too eager to feel familiar fingers twisting in it again. The thought alone had my cheeks pinking and I immediately dropped my gaze and my fingers fiddled with the hem of my dress. The black silk was cool and slick, a bit more luxurious than it could possibly have been for the occasion, but I cared very little, to be honest. I felt more myself in this moment, in every moment I was here, than I had ever done before. Glancing towards the main club, I could already see it beginning to fill with people, some deep in conversation, others… not so much. But there was an undeniable buzz in the air tonight; a nearly latent electricity that only served to increase my excitement. I moved carefully through the semi-darkness to my usual spot, if there was such a thing, to wait. I was early, as was my habit, and I didn’t mind waiting, not really. I rather enjoyed it, truth be told. I loved to watch people, and let my mind wander with questions about their stories; who they were, what brought them here and what they did outside of those gleaming doors. I knew, of course, that I would never actually know, but that mattered very little to me. It was so nice to be able to focus on something that was, while not nearly inconsequential in any means, but not life altering which had been nearly everything of late. Between work, courses and my parents being, well them, almost everything was just so… heavy, all the time and it was always present. Since the first day I had walked through those doors, this had always been a place of nothing but safety and security, despite my constant nervousness at nearly every session that I’d had. But it was always for the best and I knew that, from the first instant. My smile was soft but sincere as I let my mind wander over the events of the past year that had brought me to places that i could never have begun to fathom and left so many opportunities for more to come. 

The cold air stinging my eyes behind my contacts was the only thing that brought me back to myself and I shook my head as to literally clear it, sending the thoughts scattering as my hair brushed against my bare arms. I wasn’t sure how long I had managed to allow myself to be lost in thought, but a glance at the expanded crowd in the main club had me startled. A frown twitching at my lips, I fished my phone from my bag and glanced at the clock. Eight seventeen. My appointment was scheduled for eight o’clock sharp and I had never known Sir to be anything but punctual. Dropping the device back into my purse, I approached the desk, more than a bit nervously. The feeling in my stomach had gone from excitement to… something else, although I couldn’t seem to put my finger on what that was exactly as I spoke to the receptionist. Lindsey, her hair hanging free from it’s usual pigtails and with a pair of dark glasses perched on her nose, looked at me with something akin to surprise. With how distracted I had been of late, it was easily a possibility I had gotten the time wrong. “I'm sorry, I had an eight o’clock appointment with Mr. Saporta?” Lindsey’s face, always open and expressive, dropped slightly along with her gaze as she shifted to retrieve some items from a drawer. Pushing her chair back. I watched, studying her for a moment as I tried to place what it was that had changed since I had been here last. She looked the same, her pale skin clear and smooth, accented by bright red lipstick and smoky black eyeliner; no less beautiful than before. Maybe moreso even. It wasn’t until I saw her hand drop, the white gold rings glinting on her ring finger, to rest on her belly that the pieces clicked into place and I beamed at her. “You’ll have to forgive me, I know it is the absolute poorest of taste but are you…” I couldn't even finish my sentence before I was graced with a radiant smile, all red lips, white teeth and pure light. Lindsey’s hand rubbed tiny circles on the small bump that was barely visible behind her desk. Her slim fingers were pale against the black of the dress she wore, and the necklaces that were ever present at her throat twinkled in the low light. 

“I am, Charleigh. The boys and I are over the moon.” She was glowing as she spoke, her free hand resting on her desk. Her boys, Mr. Iero and Gerard, the same pair I had spied on my very first night, had become well known to me before my unplanned absence, and the flame haired submissive and I had had many wonderful conversations. 

“I am so happy for you all, Lindsey, I really am.” The joy in my voice was beyond genuine and I made a note to pick up something for the trio before my next visit. The happiness that I felt was short lived, however. As Lindsey handed me whatever it was she had been searching for before I had distracted her. There was a definite frown on her face, and a tinge of something I couldn't place in her voice. “He- these were left for you, Charleigh.” The words were accompanied by two envelopes, one a deep cream and the other a stark white that was almost blinding in the near darkness. My breath caught in my throat but I accepted them both with a whispered ‘thank you’ before heading back to lean against the space that I had recently vacated against the wall. I didn’t bother with the white one, not immediately. I knew exactly what that one was, my own writing was scrawled across the front, a collection of words spelled out in deep green, as was fitting for a commencement invitation. That one went straight into my purse and I pulled in a deep breath as I regarded the other envelope. I could feel the weight of the fine paper in my hands, the grain soft and smooth against my shaking fingertips, a single word written on the front. Swallowing thickly I try to quell the thoughts that immediately began to spin around my head as I unfolded the single sheet of stationary. It was filled, top to bottom, with messy handwriting in navy ink, a few tell-tale splatters here and there indicating a fountain pen. It was oddly surprising but seemed especially fitting. I could feel my face fall as I read the words scrawled across the page and it was all I could do not to let the tears that stung my eyes fall as the letters blurred slightly. I called on each and every learned tactic from my mother’s ridiculous media training over the years to maintain the same facade that had become so ingrained and it seemed to work, as I tilted my chin up and carefully refolded the letter, placing it almost reverently into my bag. My hands shook as I closed the clasp with an almost deafening snick before turning on my heel and heading towards the door with nothing but a wave to Lindsey, despite her calling my name. The wood was smooth and cool beneath my hands and seemed almost immeasurably heavy as I pushed against them, the cool air and soft laughter suddenly stifling. I pushed again, with more force than was necessary, and stumbled out into the muggy Vegas night. 

It wasn’t dark, not really, but with the setting of the sun seemed to come people that had migrated to this city for it’s more base pursuits. The smell of alcohol almost burned my nose as I meandered my way back into the maddening crowd. It was rowdy to say the least, as I slipped in between revelers celebrating… something, although I couldn’t quite tell simply by their state of dress. They were, however, very obviously drunk. My own head swam, although I was stone cold sober, and all I wanted was to get home. Keeping my head down, I moved easily with the flow of the crowd, dodging most of the jovial crowd as I got closer and closer to my goal. 

The cold liquid against my back was what caught me first and I froze in surprise. It was just a split second of stillness, eerie and calm, before a body followed, slamming into me from behind. It wasn’t intentional, I knew that, and that was my only thought as I tumbled to the ground, the asphalt biting into my knees and palms as I tried foolishly to brace my fall. Shouted, concerned apologies mixed with drunken laughter just as the acrid smell of stomach acid and a sick, spattering of liquid hitting concrete reached my ears. I scooted back as much as I could, avoiding most of the onslaught, but my hair, hanging free, was not nearly as lucky and it was all I could do not to cry as I pushed myself off the curb, standing on wobbly legs. The drunk girl looked absolutely miserable, regret written on her sloppy face, and she held shoes in her hand, a lopsided, veiled tiara perched precariously on top of a massive amount of bottle blonde hair. She slurred apologies, her empty cup still clutched in her hand, the group of friends flocked around her nearly holding her up . 

“It’s okay. It’s okay.” It wasn’t not really, but there truly wasn’t anything that could possibly be done about it now. Breathing through my mouth, I straighten my spine and continue the short journey home, the crowd parting almost mystically for me as I made my way through although I could hear the call behind me as I left, in the same drunk voice. 

“Hey, I really love your shoes!”

It wasn’t until I finally stepped through my door that I let the tears fall, and they did, as soon as the locks were refastened. It was just one at first, and the the others came without warning as I stripped my dress off in my small entryway, carefully dropping it, as well as my undergarments, in the trash can beside the couch. My own air conditioning was set far too high and I felt goosebumps rise on my skin as I made a beeline for the bathroom. I kept my shoes on as I turned on the shower, the steam immediately filling the air. All I could smell was the acrid mixture of stomach acid and alcohol that soaked part of my hair and the sticky, soured fruit scent of liqueur and cherries that clung to my skin. I couldn’t do anything but stare as I caught sight of myself in the mirror. I was physically a mess, and not a beautiful one, but it matched the way that I felt inside; an unknown and unimagined pain that just ached with every breath. Shaking my head, my hair, sticky and limp, fell in my face and I whimpered as I tried to push it away. The glint of silver caught my eye, a discarded pair of scissors left out absently yesterday as I had finished opening a new packet of deep conditioner, and I didn’t think twice as I grabbed them and closed the blades over a hand of hair, watching as it fell to the floor. It was… not cathartic, not in the least, but it held a certain lightness to it and another bunch followed again and again, uneven I’m sure as the mirror grew more and more fogged with each moment When the last piece fell to the floor, the mirror was a blanket of white and I could barely feel the frayed ends of my hair grazing my shoulders. I was numb as the scissors clattered into the sink and I turned to step into the shower, sinking down immediately under the hot spray as it washed away the traces of vomit and alcohol from my body and newly shorn locks and shoes, but also took with it the tears that fell down my cheeks, sobs muffled by the pounding water.


	7. Chapter Seven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time goes swiftly on it's way...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I said things were going to be a little different and I meant it. Shorter, more frequent updates for a bit because... I don't know. I do what I want. YOU DON'T POUR MY CEREAL. 
> 
> So. Yes. I am so glad Flames_And_Jade exists. She is my wednesday screaming buddy and random text reciever. And also wrote what is tied for my favorite story of all time. OF ALL TIME. This is to celebtate her birthday. 
> 
> Questions, comments, kudos and your guesses for cameo of the week are welcome, encouraged and will, in fact, be rewarded with exceeding thanks and digital cookies. They make this fun. 
> 
> Not betaed. The mistakes are, as some annoying seagulls once said, 'Mine.'.
> 
> I must give immense thanks and endless praise to SnitchesAndTalkers not only for listening to me babble endlessly, but also for her tips and ideas. And also for writing my other favorite story. 
> 
> They are tied, what?
> 
> Thanks, of course, to all of you who read this, I hope you enjoy!
> 
> Aural Satisfaction for this chapter is The Yeah Yeah Yeahs 'Phenomena'. Because reasons.

‘What in the hell was I doing?” The question raced through my head for what seemed like the millionth time today. I knew the answer, it was very obvious, but I still had to wonder what, exactly had brought me here, shivering just out of reach of pale blue light, the bass from a Massive Attack song that I barely knew reverberating through my head. 

It was easy enough to trace the steps that brought me here and I did, letting the sequence of events flitter through my consciousness like a bit of film at the end of a reel. So much had changed in the last few months. Graduation was particularly memorable, although not necessarily for the right reasons. My parents had, of course, come to town and they were unappreciative of my impulsive decision to cut my hair off but really, it was not their business at all. By the time they had arrived, it had been cleaned up professionally and hung in soft waves down to my chin, as opposed to the slightly less attractive hack job that I had managed in my own bathroom. As with any visit of theirs, seeing me, despite them presumably being out for my graduation, seemed to be a bit secondary to fundraising which I was used to at this point in time. 

The photo opportunities that it presented were golden though, and one of the images of both of my parents and me, still dressed in my black graduation gown, had center billing on my father’s website. The perfect family indeed. It was amazing what exactly was going on behind the bright smiles, it always had been. I had, however, as the last year had passed, grown slightly less enamoured with keeping up the charade and, much to The Senator and District Attorney's dismay, ended up shirking my daughterly duties, claiming exhaustion. It wasn’t exactly true, not fully, but it seemed to be just enough to placate them, at least long enough to get them back out of town. That was the only good thing about an election year; there was always somewhere else to be and, fortunately, it was not in Vegas. 

Once they had departed, things seemed to calm, at least a little bit, and the ballet company had reopened, providing a much needed sense of belonging. The work was something that I loved. Despite being a PhD, I didn’t plan on using my degree, not quite yet. There was plenty of time to apply for jobs, and with such a niche specialty, there were more than a few options available. Instead, I threw myself into teaching and choreographing as much as I could, taking on a full load of standard classes as well as a new offering, an adult technique class that was something of an experiment. It turned out to be quite a good one and, within no time, another three slots had been added, all of them filling within a week. 

The technique classes, surprisingly, turned out to be one of the highlights of my week. It was kind of amazing to see people, especially those who hadn’t really danced before, learn even just the basics. I had been dancing for so long that the newness, that awe was a bit lost in me sometimes, but I could still see it in my students. One in particular seemed to stand out, and not just because of her outgoing personality. There was something about the way she moved, fluid and almost familiar, that struck me as soon as she had walked into my class. Her feet were bare and nearly as battered as mine of late, and there were bruises scattered along the length of her legs; a work of art rendered in internal bleeding. I had been there, although most likely not for the same reasons. My interest piqued, I settled beside her on the floor after class one night as she was cooling down and asked about her training. The reaction took me by surprise as the she threw her head back and laughed, the rich sound seeming to fill the open space. 

“I’m a stripper, Sweet Pea.”

Somehow, Vicky’s easy and appropriately blunt response seemed to make all of the sense in the world, and all the pieces somehow clicked into place. I just nodded, although intrigued, and pushed off the wooden floor to work at the bar. 

Although I rarely became actual friends with my students, Vicky’s infectious energy and openness was hard to ignore and I found myself, for the first time in a very long time, socializing, even if it was just the occasional cup of coffee. It was nice, in a way, having someone to just talk to. I’d never been one to make friends easily, although I had many, many acquaintances, my upbringing kind of threw a bit of a wrench in that whole trusting people thing. 

Things were good. Work was wonderful, I had a degree, my life was, in a sense, perfect. And yet there was something very, very missing. I felt, more often than not, like I was going to crawl out of my skin. I knew what was wrong, I wasn’t stupid, just a fan of avoidance. I had purposely avoided going anywhere near Flame since my last, ill-fated trip there and the need still sparked just beneath my skin. It would be so easy to just go but I couldn’t bring myself, not yet. The entire story spilled out over glasses of ice wine and ridiculously delicious Italian food one night and Vicky simply smiled knowingly and nodded as I finally closed my mouth. I could still see the look on her face, plain as day as she grinned from behind her wine glass. “You should come do amateur night.” 

That was almost a month ago and that time had flown by in a haze of work, sleep and lessons from Vicky herself just to take the edge off, as it were. As different from ballet as it was, and it ABSOLUTELY was, there was a similarity in the strength and dedication that was required, the illusion of making something that was almost ridiculously difficult seem not only effortless but, in this case, seductive. It was an unusual art, in a sense, and one that, while I had never, EVER considered, I couldn’t seem to say no as the time passed. Details were finalized little bits at a time, steps were learned and then, somehow I was standing on the side of an unfamiliar stage in a familiar repurposed costume, the white fabric of the two piece ensemble had been abbreviated, dyed and bejeweled since the last wearing and now glowed in shades of chartreuse and an eye searing pink. Sky high heels, a long, dark wig perched on my head rounded out the ensemble and a set of jangling nerves that were, in an astoundingly strange way, comfortingly familiar. 

The sound of applause drew me out of my reverie just as another one of the dancers squeezed past me, clutching the formerly discarded pieces of a cheap school girl outfit and flashing a bright smile just before the DJ’s incredibly unctuous voice nearly echoed through the speakers. I couldn’t make out his words, as I closed my eyes, my energy focusing solely on my breathing until the opening notes of Yeah Yeah Yeah’s ‘Phenomena’ sounded through the air and I moved on instinct, stepping from the miniscule backstage into the cold, blue light.


	8. Chapter Eight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We all have that one family member...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shorter updates. Check. 
> 
> Not betaed cause I do what I want. 
> 
> Comments, kudos and questions make me smile like a movie star. 
> 
> This increasingly rambling tale is for Flames_And_Jade. Cause reasons.
> 
> Major love to SnitchesAndTalkers for EVERYTHING. 
> 
> It is the return of Where's Waldo? Any guesses on who popped up? Leave them here or on Tumblr and we can talk about ideas!
> 
> Aural Pleasure this chapter is Golden Days by Panic! At The Disco. 
> 
> Thank you all so, so, so much for reading!!!!

“Charleigh James Gabriel, are you even listening to me?” My mother’s annoyed voice, dripping with Georgia honey and privileged disdain, cut through the haze of my absent thoughts and I shook my head slightly to send the fog reeling before glancing across the ridiculous limousine at her. 

“Honestly, Mother? I really wasn’t.” The expression on her beautiful face, any hint of aging carefully masked by expert application of a ridiculous amount of paints and potions, was more than shocked, and anger flashed in her eyes. 

“Insolence isn’t a good color for you, Charleigh. And, quite frankly, neither is that shade of purple, it washes you out. Didn’t you get the gown we had sent over?” My mother’s words didn’t hold even the slightest sting. I knew that she was simply being honest, and cared for me in her own way; the comment, however backwards as it may have seemed, was truly meant to be helpful. She tried, in a strange way. Blinking against the artificial cold of the air conditioning in the utterly ridiculous vehicle, my gaze bounced between her and my father, both dressed to the nines, his elegant tuxedo accented by pops of soft, spring green that echoed my mother’s almost diaphanous, but still perfectly age appropriate gown and accessories. My own ensemble, in contrast, was deep purple and off the shoulder, the silk and tulle standing out against the soft pastels in a way that, according to some, would have probably been garish. It was far from it, in my own mind, off the shoulder with a conservative neckline, slim belt and a flowing hemline that flitted easily with the straps of my silver heels. Ashley had outdone herself this time around. There were definite bonuses to having a friend who was a fashion designer that offered, or insisted, on working her magic every time she heard my parents would be in town. I had never been more thankful, truly. 

“ I did get the gown you sent, Mother, and I simply chose not to wear it, as thoughtful as it was. I left a message with Taylor stating exactly that. I’m assuming that you never got it?” At the mention of my father’s personal assistant, my mother’s smile became forced, although to anyone who did not know her, the change would have been unnoticeable. 

“No, I never did. I’ll have to speak with her about that.” The tension in the limo was suddenly thick and nearly palpable, an almost solid presence. My father, for his part, simply shook his head and carefully poured another glass of champagne, as one does, although I knew his limit for the night would be three; it wouldn’t do to have the senator tipsy at such an important event. I couldn’t, even if I were paid, say what exactly it was, only that it involved the same old ridiculous rigmarole that seemed to accompany each and every family outing for the last decade. Looking away from my parents, I glanced out the windows at the traffic that lined the always busy strip. I could make out the skyline even through the tinted glass, the familiar skyline highlighted against the golds and oranges of the slowly setting sun. It had somehow become beautiful when I wasn’t paying attention, although not in the same way that Boston was. Traffic came to a slow stop, backed up at a light and a small smile pulled at my lips at the red lights that flickered on along the line of traffic. Shiny black and chrome slowly came to a stop beside us, the motorcycle making a low, almost satisfying rumble as the engine idled. The driver flipped up the shield on his helmet and gave a cheerful wave in my direction, despite not being able to actually see into the vehicle between the dark windows and his own sunglasses. 

“We think it’s time you came home, Charleigh. You’ve spent enough time here, to say nothing of the money you used, and we have a good-” The words were delivered with a cold efficiency, as though they had been rehearsed; they probably had. I didn't care. 

“ I’m sorry, you what?” My stomach turned beneath layers of silk, lace and tulle and I shook my head, a stray lock of hair that had slipped from where it was caught at the nape falling in my eyes. “No. I happen to like it here, and any money that I have spent, for my apartment and living has either been from my trust fund from Grandma or what I have made on my own. It has nothing to do with you.” There was a waver in my voice that I couldn’t ever seem to shake around my parents. Something about their presence seemed to erase any progress that I felt that I had made and reduce me, once again, to the same meek, scared girl that had traveled out to the middle of the desert five years ago. 

“Charleigh James, this is not up for discussion. You are coming home. We can have you packed and ready to leave within the week and we already have a position waiting for you.” My mother, every trace of the saccharine sweetness of her Georgia lilt gone, sat up straighter and leveled her blue eyes at me as she delivered her ultimatum. I had never seen her work, not in person, but there was no way that she could have achieved the position that she held without being formidable and intimidating. My gaze darted back to the window and I saw the red lights far up ahead start to disappear as the traffic light turned green, my stomach twisting with nerves and, for the first time in a while, fear. Not in a physical sense, I was not actually afraid of getting hurt, but the idea of leaving this city that had grown on me, even the thought of spending another moment pretending to be the doting daughter that my parents so clearly thought they had made me ill.

A quick, deep breath and my mind was made up. Grabbing the small clutch from the seat beside me, I flung open my door just enough to bolt out of the limousine, slamming it behind me as I gathered my skirt in my hands and climbed, far from gracefully, on the back of the motorcycle just as traffic started moving.

“ Go.” My voice was loud over the roar of the engine, but not enough to be heard by anyone aside from the stranger in front of me. I could feel the deep vibrations of his laughter as I held on tight and we took off, darting ahead and weaving through traffic. We twisted and turned through the streets, a gradual chill settling in the air as the sky turned a deep gold and then streaked with blues and purples as night fell and the city lit back up. 

We carefully slowed to a stop on a small side street that I recognized, not far from the glittering lights of the strip. I was visibly shivering as I climbed off the motorcycle, my legs shaking just a little as I regained my balance and offered the motorcycle driver a small smile as he did the same, pulling off his helmet and sunglasses with a high pitched laugh. He looked kind, and I was far less scared than I probably should have been. There was something soft and familiar about his blue eyes that went a long way toward easing any fear that I probably should have had. 

“Thank you for that, I know it was probably weird as hell, but…” I offered a shrug and the man just laughed again, shrugging out of his leather jacket and draping it over my shoulders. 

“I’m not going to ask. The why is none of my damn business, but I’m glad I could help, it seems like you needed it. Besides, it’s far from the strangest thing I have ever seen in this town. You know where you are?” I glanced around and my stomach clenched just slightly as I caught sight of a pair of familiar doors glowing in the distance. 

“ I do, thank you. And I can get your jacket back to you if- “ I was cut off by the shaking of his head.

“Not necessary, it looks better on you anyway. Take care of yourself, Blondie.” At that, the dark helmet was replaced and with a roar of the motor he was gone, disappearing around the corner and into the chaos of the strip. I stared for a moment, laughing in spite of myself, as I wrapped the soft leather tighter over my bare arms, my skirt gathered in my free hand as I made my way, pointedly away from the familiar building that seemed to call me in a way that it really, really shouldn’t, bringing up long buried memories with it. 

I shook my head as though I could physically dispel them and ducked into the nearest storefront for a quick distraction. The store was one I’d never really noticed, although as I glanced around, I scolded myself for exactly that. There were shelves and stands everywhere, stacked with perfectly arranged records and punctuated by handwritten signs, the detail of which was more artistic than some actual exhibits I’d seen and I stepped just away from the door and looked around in something akin to awe, trying to decide where to look first. 

“Can I help you with something?” The voice was soft and low, and very, very bored, but still audible over the guitar heavy track that was playing through hidden speakers, and I turned to face the cash counter, my skirt still clutched in my hands. 

“No, I’m just… looking, I guess. *The clerk who sported an exceptionally disaffected expression and at least two scarves, just nodded and turned his attention back to the bass that rested on his lap. 

“If I can help at all, just holler.” I nodded absently and gave a smile as I wandered through the racks, pausing to flip through albums, the plastic of the album sleeves that covered the actual album covers. 

The stack in my hands grew exponentially as I wandered, time ticking away in a flurry of familiar and long forgotten albums. The music overhead changed dramatically through genres, although it was an effortless shift from one to the next. Even if I didn’t like a song, I found myself appreciating it and the care that must have gone into picking this exact selection. The chiming of the clock behind the counter finally pulled me from my reverie and I glanced up, quickly realizing that nearly two hours had passed in a blink and the clerk no doubt wanted to go home at some point soon. 

“You’re fine, we don’t close for another half an hour.” The words were delivered with a knowing smile, and I grinned, nodding my head in thanks before I crouched down next to a crate of records tucked in a corner, my skirt pooling around me on the dusty floor. It was not quite as full as some of the others, and the titles a little more obscure, almost a bit messy. I flipped through them easily, sliding out two that piqued my interest when I caught sight of a smidge of color from the back corner. Setting my haul aside almost reverently, I shifted the albums in their crate, gently freeing a stack of polaroids that had been left, either on purpose or accidentally I was not sure. I flipped through them, fighting a sneeze at the dust that floated up through the air, tickling my nose. 

I didn’t know the people in the pictures, I couldn’t, but I could see, even through the images that were faded and worn with time, that there was something special about them; a connection that could be seen years later, by a stranger in a record shop. I wanted to know more about them; who they were, how these memories had ended up here and, even more so, why. The thought had tears pricking my eyes unbidden, as I fought to keep my composure. I kept the stack of polaroids in my shaking hand as I made my way back towards the cash register. The clerk, far more observant that his expression. would let on, simply smiled and rung up my items and ran my credit card, the joy for what he did evident in the care with which he packed up my purchases, slipping the stack of photos gently into a third, smaller bag.

“Thank you for stopping by, Miss Gabriel, enjoy your albums.” There was no sarcasm in the words, just a simple, clear message, and I smiled softly as I gathered up the paper bags, the handles rough and heavy in my hands and headed back out into the chilly night air, lowing myself in the familiar hustle and bustle of the Vegas lights.


	9. Chapter Nine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A moment of quiet...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another peek at quiet time, and some introspection. 
> 
> This is, as always, unbetaed. I claim my mistakes. *shoves them in my pockets* mine. You can't have them. 
> 
> Comments, kudos and questions truly make me feel like a rockstar... if you have a minute and want to help that along, there are cookies. 
> 
> Are you playing where's waldo? Who do you think these folks showing up are? Motorcycle Guy? Ashley? The Record store clerk? Tell me all the theories over at AllKindsOfPlatinumAndPercocet on tumblr. Please? 
> 
> This is for Flames_And_Jade cause she is lovely. 
> 
> And all the special edition Panic! Vinyl goes to SnitchesAndTalkers for dealing with me. 
> 
>  
> 
> Thank you all for taking the time out of your busy lives to read this, it makes me so thrilled.
> 
> Aural Pleasure this chapter is This Is Gospel (Piano Version) by Panic! At The Disco.

Time passed differently in Vegas, even after close to three years, I still wasn’t used to it. I always expected, for some reason, the same changes that I saw in Boston; crocuses peeking up through the snow or trees changing from bright green to a riot of reds, oranges and golds, as though they were on fire. Instead, there is just… more of the same, only cooler. The only way I even knew it was nearing Halloween was the increase in costumes among the throngs of tourists that seemed to always be present along the strip. Even then, a lot of them weren’t exactly out of the ordinary. In a place where you could literally be anything you could imagine, with no questions, even the most ludicrous of ideas was almost commonplace. It had seemed, somehow, that my time in Vegas had worn down the stoic, New England conservative ideals that had been pushed on me all my life. Then again, those ideals had never really been mine to begin with, but rather my family’s, pressed onto my shoulders. 

Settling on my window seat, I pulled my legs easily to my chest, my chin resting on my knees as I let my gaze drift out the window over the bright lights of the city I had come to think of as home. It was always day here, there were always lights and delights of every kind, a vice to counteract every virtue and even more for good measure. The city changed you, whether you wanted it to or not. I couldn’t imagine what my life would have been like if I had stayed in Boston and, quite frankly, I didn’t want to. For everything that I had learned since I had stepped off of that plane three years ago, everything I had discovered, I knew, somehow that there was more yet, although I couldn’t begin to fathom what. 

I had changed, of that there was no doubt, and not just in the physical, although my mother was quick to comment on that her last trip into town,during breakfast after my spur of the moment motorcycle ride with a stranger through Vegas in an evening gown. The disdain was evident in her voice as she tucked a strand of short, honey-blonde hair back behind my ear. 

“Really, Charleigh James. I don’t know what you were thinking.” There was more unsaid, as always, implications and questions lurking in her tone. It was a skill of my mother’s that I had never cared for, and one seemingly cultivated for both the press and the courtroom, saying so much without actually speaking, and it was not at all missed when we were on opposite coasts. 

As much as I tried to keep that part of my life from infringing upon my day-to-day, it always seemed to be approaching a vote, or a bill or Jupiter rising, and it was absolutely impossible. It seemed that every other week brought with it a new challenge or a new story. The saving grace of being so far from what was once home, however, was that I was spared from the worst of it; the mud slinging and ridiculous rumours that always sprang up at the worst times rarely made it this far west. They had, of course, been going on for years, each election cycle bringing with it a crop of fresh-faced reporters eager to earn their stripes by uncovering some juicy tidbit about the good Senator Gabriel’s sordid past. The thing was, there was nothing to hide, not really. I had been fourteen the first time a reporter had asked me about my father’s affair, though it was far from the last. My father, surprisingly, had admitted a brief moment of infidelity and, somehow, managed to get MORE respect for saying that than he would have by hiding it. It probably helped that my mother stood by his side, all good Christian values and supporting her husband even when he was wrong. It was ridiculous and, as were most things at that point, little more than a show put on for the cameras; a carefully orchestrated scenario that would have screenwriters seething with jealousy. 

When the reporters left and the cameras went off, we were just as dysfunctional as any other family, but god forbid anyone ever notice. I hadn’t really seen how bad things were, not until I was able to distance myself, and not just slightly. It wasn’t until I watched the circus unfold from across the country, having forcibly removed myself from the situation on my own terms, that it really became clear what a precarious house of cards they were building. The slightest breeze could send everything tumbling down. Even now, the headlines from The Boston Globe screamed up at me from it’s resting place on the table, beneath a vase of flowers, nary a rose in sight thanks to a new and surprisingly attentive secretary. Stevie was obviously hand picked by my mother. My parents names and campaign statistics were no doubt picked apart in excruciating detail in inches of black text. I hated it. 

It was easy, sometimes, so far away to pretend that none of it existed. The miles were more than just distance, it was quite literally another world from what I had known, and I cherished what I had built here in Vegas, against all odds. It hadn’t always been what I had hoped when I had moved out here for school, but it was never disappointing, even when it hurt. I had experienced things here that I could have never even dared to imagine and discovered myself in the process or at least started to. There was something though, that was still missing. That longing I had felt when I had landed, quite literally, on my ass in front of a set of lacquered doors was still there, although it had shifted and changed. I wasn’t nearly as naive as I had been then, a far cry from it; I had hurt and healed, grown in ways that I could have never thought, but there was still something missing. 

I’d found a small piece of that on the few nights I had gone with Vicky, donning a dark wig and losing myself under black lights and spotlights, playing with that power that came with being on a stage in such a different way than I was used to, but it still wasn’t enough. I taught, of course, and while it was familiar, it almost rang hollow, false unless I was choreographing as well which I was slowly doing more of. I had proven myself with a few competition pieces, and I’d managed to secure a fairly safe position within the company working with the younger members of the corps for showcases. My CV was impressive, and surprised even me sometimes, as I sent it out with a bit of trepidation, for positions within my chosen field. I forgot, almost daily, that I actually had a Phd, as ridiculous as it seemed. 

I achieved everything that I had wanted when I had come out here, and more, but it wasn’t enough, not quite and while I couldn’t seem to put my finger on what was missing, I knew, somehow, that whatever it was would come along when I least expected it.


	10. Chapter Ten

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's Christmas in Las Vegas...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have you ever wonder what Christmas in Vegas is like? Yeah, no, me neither. Moving on...
> 
> Not betad cause you don't know my life, OKAY? I am sure it is riddled with mistakes. Im okay with that. 
> 
> Once again, I took some liberties... just assume that from here on out, yeah? 
> 
> Comments, kudos and questions make me squeak like a kitten. You could encourage this behavior by leaving them if you wanted. 
> 
> For Flames_And_Jade cause she is amazing. 
> 
> Thank you to SnitchesAndTalkers for encouraging my hot mess. You rock. 
> 
> And thank you to everyone reading, it makes me so happy. 
> 
> Aural Satistaction this round is Minerva by Deftones

“Please, Charleigh? Pretty please with cherries on top? Come on, please do me a solid, just this once? I have to get this shift filled or they will dock me and you know what we make. You’re the only one I know who can pull this off on such short notice. You know routines, you have costumes, you are fucking good AND they already have your work card on file. Please?” Vicky’s voice was scratchy and rough through the phone line, and I had physically winced every time that she spoke, making a mental note to drop by after shift with some popsicles and lozenges. I couldn’t really say no, even if I wanted to which… I kind of didn’t want to. Time was rapidly running down where I could actually manage to be somewhat below the radar, if my mother's lengthy voicemails were to be believed, and I intended to use every moment of it. Swinging the oversized bag over my shoulder, I shoved my earbuds in and headed out the door, locking the alarm behind me. 

If Christmas in Vegas itself was unusual for me, which it still was, then Christmas at The Dollhouse was absolutely surreal. Like, Bukowski territory surreal. Instead of the usual dayglow neon bedecking the girls that nearly skirted through the darkness of the main club, red, green and silver took center stage, as it were, and holiday themed outfits were the dress code du jour. Vicky had guaranteed that I’d make at least a bit of money, which was neither here nor there; I didn’t need it. At the end of the day, I was here to help a friend, and maybe have a little bit of fun. That certainly seemed to be possible. Despite the tinsel bedecked dancers and twinkle lights that hung from the bar, the music was the same as always; loud and heavy. Perfect for losing myself, which was exactly the plan. Shooting a wave to one of the cheap suited managers, I ducked back up the stairs towards the dressing room, ignoring the sticky pull of spilled… something on the worn tread. It was what it was. 

Compared to hustle and bustle of the last few times I’d been here, the empty dressing room was almost jarring; the pepto pink lockers and too bright lights reflecting off chipped mirrors were eerily quiet despite the echos of the frantic techno song that just barely drifted through the closed door. Dropping my bag to the floor with a thud, I quickly tugged my t-shirt over my head and pitched it into an open locker with whatever the opposite of finesse was. I was even kind of surprised I made it. Yanking my phone from the pocket of my jeans, I flipped through my latest playlist until familiar, subdued vocals spilled from the tiny speakers. There was a certain ritual to getting ready, for me anyway, whether it was to perform as part of a benefit in front of five thousand people or as a last minute replacement at a strip club for fifty, it didn’t matter; it was the ritual that was important. Rummaging through the bag at my feet, I pulled out two makeup bags and carefully set each one down on the scarred makeup table, pulling the contents out one by one. Lotions, powders, palettes, paints and brushes; everything that made a pretty girl, A PRETTY GIRL, in all of the doxy detail. I pulled my glasses off first, fishing in the smaller of the two bags of the tiny contact case and eventually fumbling, dumping the whole thing out to skitter over the chipped tabletop. It wasn’t there. Damnit it all to hell. I could see, though not very well. Enough to manage to not fall of the stage at least, although differentiating between actual customers would be fairly difficult, if not absolutely impossible. Maybe that was for the best though, especially considering the last few times I’d been in. Heaving a soft sigh, I began to organize the bottles that were scattered before me, arranging them just so, and lining up the contents of the second bag beside them, in order of use. 

The phrase war paint had never been more apt than in this moment as I covered my face with layers of primer, powder and color, my usually pale skin taking on definition and dimension with well placed brush strokes. A trio of dark, smokey shadows highlighted my hazel eyes, topped off with copious amounts of jet black liner and a fringe of fluttery, false lashes. My hair was next and the nearly shoulder length strands were supplemented by a dozen sets of clip in extensions and a few twists of a curling iron, cascading down my back to nearly brush my waist. Lipstick waited until last, for fear of an incident, and costume was next, and that was exactly what it was. In deference to the holiday, I’d opted for navy blue and white lace, all shot through with gleaming silver threads and beads that would, no doubt, catch the cold lights of the small stage. It made me laugh, even now, how a few simple modifications could turn a costume meant for the ballet into one that slipped off with a few deft flicks of the wrist in a strip club. Fastening the embellished top over a white lace bra, I stand and shimmy down my jeans, kicking both them and my converse into a pile before folding them and my shirt and tucking them carefully into the open locker that the latter had been haphazardly thrown into. White lace boy shorts and a navy shirt finished up my ensemble, if you could call it that, and I settled back into the chair in front of me, gazing at my slightly fuzzy reflection in the streaked mirror. Between the fake hair and the blurriness of my vision, I could almost, almost see the girl that I had been when I first moved out here; naive and hiding, but still wildly sure in an insane and almost dangerous way, that the unknown, the unquantifiable questions that lay around every corner would always turn out for the better. They hadn’t, of course, because life is not a fairytale, but they hadn’t all ended badly, rather the opposite. I had become stronger for my losses, for the hopes and thoughts that had since drifted to the wayside, and I was thankful for each and every one, and what I had learned from them.

“Hey, James? You’re up in ten. Oh, I love that top.” My attention was pulled from my own reflection by the door banging open as a slender brunette walked in, covered in glitter and scraps of lace as she fanned her face with a handful of carefully arranged bills.

“Thank you, I guess I kind of got lost in my thoughts.” I turned my attention to my feet as I talked, carefully strapping a pair of glittery, silver stilts to my feet.

“No problem, sweets. It’s a good crowd to night, free and easy with the bills AND Bob is off for the night, so even the DJ is good. I’m not quite sure who he is but Travie knows him from somewhere.” There was contempt dripping from the woman’s words as spoke of the usual DJ. Plopping down in the chair beside me, she wrinkled her tiny nose. I couldn’t remember her name for the life of me.

“Bob sucks and the only reason he is still here is because he’s fucking the owner's niece. I swear, if he touches my ass one more time, I’m gonna lose my cool and I just got right with the Lord.” The words were tinged by more than a hint of a southern accent, Alabama, maybe, and I couldn’t help but smile as I carefully applied my lip gloss in the mirror; the shiny, pale pink standing out just enough. Dropping the tube in my bag, I snagged the small flash drive with my music and slipped the keychain through my finger as I locked my belongings away. I wasn’t going to be gone long, and I didn’t bring anything of real value, but it was more habit than anything I suppose. Turning to my companion, I gave the strap of my top a tweak and smoothed my skirt over my hips.

“Does it look okay?” The brunette looked up, eyeing me carefully from head to toe, the overhead lights shining off her glittery, sweaty skin and glinted off the rhinestones that twinkled at her ears, wrists and navel. Bebe, that was her name. Well, one of them. 

“Sugar, you still have a goddamn daisy fresh glow about you. With that face and body, you could be wearing walmart panties and bare feet and manage to bank. When are you gonna come work with us full time? And how is Vicky feeling? She sounded like absolute shit last night. Poor girl was basically playing charades for tips. Don’t even ask me what she had to mime for that fifty I saw tucked up in her garter.” I couldn’t help but laugh at the statement, my cheeks heating beneath the layers of makeup.

“Thank you, Bebe. Honestly, this is probably gonna be my last shift for… well, ever, maybe. Things got kind of complicated. And Vicky is good, aside from the burning throat. She sounded awful, but insisted that it wasn’t as bad as it seemed. I’m pretty sure she was just humouring me. But she should be back to normal in a few days, although sound ing a bit more like me than she would probably like.” My words earned a laugh from Bebe and I returned it in kind. I knew that my voice was, usually anyway, at odds with my appearance. The husky, smoky tone had been more than a slight bone of contention growing up, and one that my mother never seemed to fail to mention at public events. Eventually, I learned to keep quiet, simply to save the headache. In time though, I had grown to not only appreciate, but love my voice, despite the constant inquiries as to whether I was sick or not. 

“There could be worse things, I suppose.” I paused in the doorway as I finished talking, keeping my eyes down as I finished talking. Despite how little being naked in front of others bothered me, I still wasn’t used to seeing it so freely and Bebe was not one to be shy, in any sense of the word as she sprawled naked in the chair, a towel tossed over the surface.

“Absolutely, Bambi. Good luck!” Her words were honest and accompanied with a bright smile and a wave as I ducked down the stairs, carefully descending into the dark, loud area that formed the backstage, such as it were. There was a frantic techno song blasting from the speakers that rang a bell somewhere in my mind, and I carefully edged along the side of the stage towards the DJ booth, sliding the flash drive over. I couldn’t make out much in the dark but a shock of bleach blonde hair and the glint of light on what looked like sunglasses. Not hiding my smile, I give a wave and a nod before meandering over to wait in the pseudo backstage area which was honestly barely big enough for me and the attempt at ambience created by the Charlie Brown christmas tree on a stand in the corner; I had to give them points for effort. 

The dancer on stage was petite, Ari was her name if I recalled correctly, although she appeared anything but as she hung upside down, from the gleaming silver pole, naked as the day she was born. The lights cut out and there was a resounding round of cheers and applause as the DJ’s soothing voice echoed through the air, sending Ari off as she gathered her scattered tips and introducing me just after. This part, this was what always left me paralyzed; that moment of being known, the waiting before the lights came up and the music began; it didn’t matter what the venue, it was always the same feeling. There was some part of me that hoped that it would never go away. 

Once the music finally kicked in though, it was a different story. The heavy guitars and pounding bassline were more than a slight change from any songs that I had used in the past, but there was something almost comforting about them, a solace of sorts in the haunting vocals and echoing refrain. It was comfort, in the strangest of ways. 

Stepping out into the cold, blue lights that illuminated the small stage, I let my hand trail down the length of the pole with a small, knowing smile before gripping it with one hand and spinning around it easily, pressing up on the ball of one foot, the other stretched behind me as I twirled. The word beyond the borders of the stage swirling into a blur of faceless, fuzzy, dark figures. I needed something to focus on though, someone, even if it was just looking over someone’s head; as long as I had something to spot, I’d be fine. Pushing up easily to my feet I gripped the pole and leaned back, hips moving to the music as I arched into a handstand, trying desperately to find something to use for reference. Dark faces and blurry christmas lights twinkled just in my field of vision before my attention was caught by blonde hair, nearly glowing in the blacklight. I offered up a quiet whisper of thanks to the sunglasses wearing guest DJ as I righted myself and continued my routine, losing myself in the music. The first song passed in a flash, bleeding easily into the second and by the time the last notes faded and I was on my knees, breathless and naked in the bright lights, I felt everything else slip away and for the time being, in this moment anyway, nothing else mattered.


	11. Chapter Eleven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Probably what most of you have been waiting for....

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So. This chapter. I am so, so, SO very hesitant with it. It is a delicate thing to say the least and I am a kind of shaking. 
> 
> This is a bit of a turning point for this little tale and I am hoping ( HINT, HINT. I WILL BEG) for some feedback on it. Comments, kudos, questions over on tumblr... I will take it all. 
> 
> There are SO MANY little moments and cameos hidden in here. Can you find them all? Send me your guesses over at AllKindsOfPlatinumAndPercocet on tumblr and we can talk about it. I promise fangirling and LOADS of my special brand of awkwardness. 
> 
>  
> 
> This was, SHOCKINGLY, unbetad. I know. I am clutching my pearls too. What would Charlene Gabriel say? (Let's be honest though, she would probably judge my fake ass pearls, messy bun and sarcastic tea mug. Guess how many fucks I give what Mama Gabriel thinks? If you said none, you are correct.) I do, however, care what all of y'all think. When you read, you'll get it. 
> 
> This chapter was, well, you will see, hopefully. I am equally proud of it and scared so, I don't even know myself. 
> 
> My dear Flames_And_Jade, I hope you like this one, I really, really do. You were around while I was working on it, and when I was stalled on it. And then your amazing fic rec powers gave me the kick in the ass I needed to finish it, finally. (Really. I have been working on this chapter in various incarnations for at least five months. I know.) I hope it makes you smile at least a little. 
> 
> Now. SnitchesAndTalkers. You are an enabler of the best variety and I would send you pre-hiatus Patrick if I could, that is how much your input means to me. Thank you. 
> 
> And to all of you reading, thank you for your time, that is the greatest gift one person can give another. 
> 
> This is absolutely not the end, I promise, even though I am talking like it is. 
> 
> Aural Satisfaction this round is super special to me for lots of reasons. 'BTSK' by MS MR. I beg you to put it on repeat while you read, it is PERFECT.

The hustle and bustle of Vegas behind me seemed to slow and the sounds faded into a low hum as always, when I stood at the bottom of the stone steps and gazed up at the familiar red doors. They were there, gleaming in the sparkling lights, just as they had been the last time I had left them in a rush nearly half year ago. I wasn’t going to go back, not ever, I had promised myself that, and I never broke my word… unless it was to myself. And so here I was standing in the hot, sticky night air and staring up at them like an absolute fool. Closing my eyes, I took a deep breath and steadied myself, steeling my mind against the long pushed away memories that would, with no doubt return once I stepped foot into the cool lobby. But before that, I actually had to get inside. Clutching my small red purse between shaking fingers, I headed up the stairs slowly, the click of my bright red heels almost deafening to my ears, seeming to drown out anything that was happening behind me. It wasn’t until I stopped in front of those doors,almost incandescently red in the dark of night, with the reflections of the lights of the city twinkling in the red varnish, and rested my hand on them for a moment that I even realized I was shaking. They had absorbed the heat of the day and were just this side of too hot to the touch, but I knew how cold it would be on the inside. Another deep breath and I managed to steady my fingers, slipping the keycard from my purse and swiping it over the scanner. As always, I held my breath until the light flipped from red to green, and I heard the familiar snick of the mechanical lock clicking, my signal to open them and enter. I froze, of course, because in that moment I was the same meek, inexperienced and almost naively unprepared for what would await on the other side. The realization that that girl was gone suddenly slammed into me, pushing the doubts and worry aside. The only similarities between that girl and I were our face and the red shoes that I had slipped on, as much in defiance to the past as they were a nod of respect to it.Standing just a fraction taller, I tugged open the door, the metal of the hand almost shockingly cool after the heat of the door itself, and I stepped inside the cool dark lobby as the door swung shut behind me. 

The cold air and elegant layout of the lobby was exactly as I remembered it and the cool darkness settled around me like an embrace. The woman at the reception desk glanced up and her brown eyes went wide for the briefest of moments before she grinned almost blindingly. 

 

“Welcome back, Charleigh. It is a pleasure to see you again.”

“Thank you very kindly, Lindsey, it is lovely to see you too as well.” My words were honest although quiet, and fortunately the slight tremor that shook my hands managed to stay out of my voice. “You look amazing.” The statement was greeted with vibrant laugh from the black haired receptionist as she shook her head and rested a hand on her very pregnant belly. “Charleigh, I look like a whale and haven’t seen my feet in nearly two months.” Lindsey gave a sly smile and leaned closer to me, her voice dropping to just above a whisper. “Frank and Gee have been putting my shoes on for me for the last five weeks. I am fairly certain they are both developing a foot fetish.”   
I couldn't help my laugh at the statement, the first genuine one of the day, and I rested my hand on the slick surface of the desk. 

“That may be an overshare but I am overjoyed you all are well.” Just as she was about to reply, the phone rang and pulled her focus, although she did give me a wave. Another smile and a nod of my head and I was off, making my way towards the expansive main floor of the club. It was all exactly as I had remembered; people of every ilk engaged in both quiet conversations and not so quiet ones, the heavy music pouring from the overhead speakers at a tastefully loud volume and, in the corner opposite the bar, what appeared to be a public scene, if the brief flashes I could catch from my vantage point were anything to go by. Maybe not quite yet. Licking my lips, I grimaced at the artificial vanilla of the matte red lipstick that I had painted them with and wove my way politely through the crowd towards the bar, setting my bag down on the slick top and eyeing the bottles critically as both they and their contents twinkled in the lights.  
“Can I get you anything?” The bartender’s voice was low and polite,and his pink hair nearly glowed in the flashing lights. Despite this, he still stunned me from my slight stupor and I tripped over my tongue, sputtering the first thing that came to mind. 

“A Hemingway Daiquiri please?” 

“Of course, just one moment.” I nodded in thanks and fished a bill from my purse, far more than I needed, but that was neither here nor there, and rested it carefully on the bar before letting my gaze wander over the crowd, my attention caught slightly by a hall off to the side that I had yet to explore. Then again, my time here at the club had been rather exclusively devoted to my training, leaving very little time to explore. I hadn’t wanted to at the time either; my attentions during my time here had been fairly specific. 

There was music pouring from overhead, something vaguely familiar and bass heavy, but I couldn’t quite put my finger on what it was. I let my gaze wander over the assembled crowd and for just an instant, a blink, I was transported back in time to the same girl I had been all those months ago. 

“One Hemingway Daiquiri, as requested.” The bartender set the glass down with a nearly inaudible click, the words yanking me out of my ridiculous reverie. 

“Thank you so much.” My words were warm, as was my smile as I took my drink and nodded my head before heading back off through the crowd. I kept my head up and eyes open as I caught flashes of familiar faces, floating through the throng of people. Gerard was there, his fire truck red hair acting as almost a siren, drawing eyes to him from men and women alike. It was a conversation we’d had over bottles of ginger ale one afternoon while he had been waiting for Lindsey and Frank. Attention was something that he craved, but despite how much of it he attracted, the only ones that really mattered were his husband and wife. The rest of the world, save for a handful of folks could simply fall to pieces in some sort of futuristic helium war and, as long as he had those two people, and his brother, Gerard would be happy as anything. I couldn’t hide my smile as I watched him follow just a step behind Frank. They were a seemingly unlikely pair to be sure; Gerard in his ridiculously tight jeans and messy, vibrant locks and Frank who erred, every time I had seen him anyone, on the side of conservative suits. Then again, the ink that was scrawled over his hands and disappeared under his crisp shirt cuffs told a story that I could, and would, never hazard to guess at. 

The couple were not the only faces that I recognized, not at first glance anyway. In the far corner of the vast floor, I could make out the familiar shape of Mistress Claret, her hair piled high atop her head, holding a riding crop and watching the tall, slender man that was currently strapped to the St. Andrew’s Cross. The man’s name escaped me for the briefest of moments and when it finally came back to me, I laughed at my own failing. James. They were not only a collared couple, but also married in the traditional sense. 

My laughter had, apparently drawn the ire of one of the people near me, and the Domme, her small frame encased in a lovely, almost breathtaking, deep green gown narrowed her eyes at me before giving a tug on the chain that she held tightly in her gloved left hand. Blinking at the sudden and blatant hostility from a stranger, it wasn’t until I saw the man on the other end of the leash, all red hair and beard, with tentacles in bright colors decorating every bit of exposed skin save for his face, that the pieces connected and, for not the first, second or even the third time tonight, I was transported back in time. The same woman had given me a nearly identical look on my first night here, although she had been clad in blue then. She was really quite lovely, but, as my grandmother had been fond of saying, ‘Pretty doesn’t mean shit if you are an asshole.’ She had quite the way with words. Taking a sip of my drink, I tilt my chin up just slightly, drawing myself up to stand every inch of the five-foot-six that my heels afforded me and smiled sweetly and, very pointedly, down at the woman as I passed, raising my glass in a silent toast as I headed back into the crowd. 

I kept fighting the memories that lingered at the edges of my mind and even stopped short at the sight of an almost unreasonably tall man with a gleaming head of dark hair and a vest but quickly snapped out of it, downing my drink in one long swallow, the citrus, rum and maraschino dancing on my tongue perfectly as they eased the burn in my belly. I deposited the glass on the passing tray of one of the myriad of tiny, black clad waitress that seemed to appear out of nowhere and tucked a lock of now shoulder-length hair back behind my ear as I made my way towards the hallway. Somewhere in the recesses of my mind, a familiar, accented voice floated back and explained the rooms to me, some themed and some not, for slightly less public or private scenes. I pushed the thoughts away as I reached the edge of the crowd and turned down the hallway. It was slightly less full, although there were still people milling about; in and out of doorways that were open, and lingering at the closed ones. I gave everyone I passed a polite smile, as they did me, but did not make any actual conversation, choosing instead to keep my focus either ahead of me and every so often on my shoes, the bright splashes of red somehow comforting against the dark floors. 

I paused, for just a moment, in front of a wide open door, peering in from the hallway and startling slightly as the figures that lingered in the dark became clear. Mr. Black was standing, clad in a white shirt and suspender in the center of the room, and there was a woman, brunette, petite and pretty on a chair in the corner, her eyes wide and a smile playing on pink painted lips as she watched whatever was happening in the room unfold. I saw the man sitting in front of Mr. Black, a mass of curly hair and bright blue eyes in a handsome face that was turned upward in something akin to awe and not a stitch of clothing, the same moment I put two and two together. And then the smell hit me, the sharp and biting scent of ammonia. Clasping a hand over my mouth to keep from squealing, I turned and made my way past the rest of the doors. 

I didn’t stop until I was at the end of the hallway, paused in front of a doorway that opened into an empty room. The music had quieted with the distance from the main floor and I could hear the click of my heels against the hardwood as I ducked into the space. The lights were low, but it was far from dark, somehow highlighting the deep crimson walls that were covered in instruments that were both familiar and not at all. There was a mirror across from the doorway, a common item it would seem, and I gasped a bit as I caught my own reflection, the movement serving to ground me as to where I was. In the center of the room was a long bench covered in black leather with a set of very familiar looking cuffs at each leg. I could almost feel the familiar pressure on my limbs just looking at the equipment and swallowed hard to push the memories aside.

“Do you see something you like?” The voice from the doorway was low and smooth. And familiar. It still very much took my by surprise, and I gasped as I spun around to face the speaker who was leaning against the doorframe and nodded mutely, still slightly off kilter. 

“I’m hoping if you made it this far you might stay for a bit?” There was a hint of a smile on the the man’s full lips, and hope in his voice, and I was struck for a moment at how very pretty he was, all pale skin and ginger hair peeking out from beneath a dark fedora. Then again, I hadn't been thinking of that when I had been here last. Kind, blue eyes twinkled in the low lighting and a smile pulled at lush lips

“I-ah, I would like to, I think.” I sputtered slightly over my words to the man who simply inclined his head and stepped forward into the room, the soles of his shoes quiet on the floors.

He gave me a cautiously appraising glance, one that was comfortable again, and moved closer into the room before stopping behind me, catching my gaze in the mirror. “Do you remember me, Miss Gabriel? ”

Soft voice, sure hands, kind eyes and calloused fingertips. 

“Of course I do, Mr. Stump. It is wonderful to see you again.” 

“The pleasure is all mine, I assure you.” My companion responded with a low hum and a nod. There was a note of almost playfulness in his voice and I appreciated it, although it did very little to keep the thoughts from swirling back through my mind. “I’m sorry about, well, circumstances.” 

“It isn’t your fault, Sir.” There was that traitorous waver in my voice again and I squeezed my eyes closed against the story that threatened to bubble up. A simple hum from the man behind me was the only reply, along with a brief moment of understanding that seemed to flash behind his eyes. 

The title had slipped out almost of it’s own volition and I saw something cross his features in the reflection that I was still focused on, although whether it was because of the word or the subject at hand, I did not know. Nor did I really care. 

“The pleasure is all mine, Miss Charleigh, thank you. Now, you looked as though you had an interest in trying the bench out, unless I was mistaken? I would be more than happy to help you, or I can find someone else without an issue?” His words trailed off carefully, leaving a very carefully measured opening. 

I weighed the options carefully, forcing imposing thoughts of past events from my mind and I nodded simply, my throat gone dry as Mr. Stump moved to stand before me. I was taller than him thanks to my heels, but not by much, maybe an inch or two, and I could see flecks of gold in his blue eyes as I smoothed my hands over the beading that covered my hips. “I would like that very much, Mr. Stump, thank you.” 

His nod was perfunctory and a smile graced his handsome features, all white teeth and twinkling eyes; it was genuine, but so was the slight promise of darkness that lingered behind it. 

“Wonderful, Miss Charleigh. Now before we begin, what are your limits, if you please?” The shift in his voice was subtle, but there was a firmness behind the question that turned it into a command and I dropped my head, my hair swinging loose in front of my shoulders.

“ No urine or scat play, no rape fantasies of any kind, no spit, no breathplay, no permanent marks and no knives.” Mr. Stump nodded simply, knowingly, and although his brow raised at the last limit few limits but he did not question, for which I was endlessly thankful. Because he already knew. 

“Of course. And you have a safeword, I presume?” Once again I nodded, running my tongue over my lips before replying.

“I do. Turp- ah, marachino” I stumbled over the word, the first one being nearly automatic, but I couldn’t bring myself to use it again and instead chose the first thing that came to mind, thanks to the sweet sting of lime and rum that still lingered on my tongue. 

“Interesting. Is there a reason that you changed it?” 

“ Memories.” The word on it’s own was easy, but it spoke volumes in it’s simplicity that I truly did not want to get into. Something, however, told me that it was not a subject that I would be able to ignore for much longer.

“Understandable. And tell me, Miss Charleigh, how far are you willing to go tonight?” The question was a loaded one, but I didn’t need to think of the answer for more than an answer, the words falling from my lips.

“As far as you will take me, Sir.” My voice was soft but sure, and I glanced up through lowered lashes to meet ocean blue eyes that held more than I could begin to fathom.

“Good. And are you averse to an audience? I have no qualms with shutting the door if you would like.” There was a gentleness to the question that was different from the others and I knew that numerous nights must have drifted across his memory. 

“No, that is- you can keep it open.” The surprise must have been evident in my voice, as Mr. Stump canted his head to the side slightly, a sly smirk gracing his lips. 

“Of course, Miss Charleigh. As you know, you are in control here. If at any point you want to stop, all you have to do is use your safeword and the scene ends, no exceptions, no hesitation and nothing but mutual respect. Is this still something you want to do? Do you trust me to keep you free from harm?” 

Holding Mr. Stump’s gaze I nodded firmly, my voice sure and confident.

“Yes, Mr. Stump.” My reply gets another smile, although there is something a little darker about it. It is not unpleasant in the least. 

“ Good. From now on you are to call me Sir when you address me here and nothing else. Yes Sir, No Sir, a count and your safeword, should it be needed, are all I want to hear from you tonight until we are finished. Do you understand, Miss Gabriel?” 

“Yes, Sir.” The two words fall from my lips almost automatically and I drop my head, my hands hanging free at my sides. 

“Good Girl. Now, get undressed and lay on your stomach, arms over the edge.” I nodded in response, the two words of praise reigniting a long dormant spark somewhere in my brain and went to work unfastening and unzipping my dress before sliding it off over my head, the light silk weighed down by beads that scratched over sensitive skin. My underwear and bra followed, and I stopped for a moment, hesitating as I bent over, my fingers brushing the straps of my shoes. 

“Those can come off as well.” There was a gentleness to his voice that I was momentarily thankful for, and I made quick work of the buckles, slipping the shoes off and adding them to the growing pile of belongings that were draped carefully over the black leather chair that sat nearby. Without my shoes, Mr. Stump had at least three inches on me, and I smiled at the realization . Once my things were settled, I walked barefoot and naked to the bench and carefully lay down, stretching out on my stomach with my arms and legs free. My hair hung around my face and I shook my head to brush the shoulder length strands back. The freedom lasted only a moment before I felt a pair of strong hands on my ankle and then the brush of soft leather and the click of metal on metal as a buckle was fastened. 

“Is that too tight?” The concern in Mr. Stump’s voice was evident, and I attempted to shake my head before speaking softly.

“ No, Sir.”

“Good. Give me a moment, Miss Charleigh, and we can begin.” He worked quickly, fastening my other ankle and both wrists in quick succession. I couldn’t see much, but he had rolled up his sleeves and the pale skin of his strong forearms was a stark contrast to his black clothing; memories of deep blue ropes and whispered conversations buzzed at the edge of my mind. The tight, slight pull of the leather around my wrists and ankles was at the same time foreign and familiar, and the simple feel of them caused memories that I had so carefully packed away to began to peek at the edges of my consciousness. There is silence, save for the quiet of footfalls for a few heartbeats, and the soft thump of a muted bass from the speakers overhead. The gentle brush of leather over my back sent a chill racing down my spine that had nothing to do with the air conditioning. The flogger, if I recalled the feeling correctly, was trailing softly over my skin, and I had just a moment to enjoy it, my eyes drifting closed, before it was gone. There was a warm brush of air and a quiet voice at my ear, lips barely brushing against my skin.

 

”Count for me.” The words had not quite registered completely when there was a soft rush of cool air and then the biting, stinging heat as the leather landed across my back in a sharp crack, drawing a muffled cry from my lips before I could form the word that had been requested. A moment later, I recovered myself and my voice was strong and clear. “One.”

“Good Girl.” The praise was delivered almost instantly and I felt light with it; that sweetness did not last. The next blow landed without warning, harder than the first and it brought the salt sting of tears in my eyes as I spoke, ignoring the thoughts and memories that were very rapidly making themselves known. “Two.”

There was no waver in my voice this time, and I took a quick moment to be proud of myself before the next blow struck, burning against my already tender skin. “Three” The count was on a gasp as I squeezed my eyes closed, more against the memories I couldn’t fight anymore than against the pain. Each random blow brought not only a searing pain and the one, single number from me, but small whimpers and cries, although not from the pain, even though it settled, jolting down seemingly into my bones. No, that wasn’t what brought the real pain; the physical ache I could handle for as long as I needed to; it had been my stock in trade for many years. It was the memories surfacing with each blow that pulled me over that ledge. Every strike pulled a different flash to the surface of my earlier training; The sharp drag of a blade against tender skin, a quiet command spoken in a regal voice, the tear of fabric under capable hands, begging and need and, ultimately, failure. One after another the images tumbled back, singularly at first and then jumbling together like a strip of film at double speed through the projector, blurring at the edges and running into each other until all of the experiences; of pain, pleasure and learning, seemed to pass in the blink of an eye, punctuated by the strike of a flogger on my back, my ass, the backs of my thighs and the stuttered count that I refused to drop even as tears tracked down my cheeks.

“Twenty.” The last word was a sob, choked and louder than I had intended, and then there was nothing but stillness in the quiet of the room, the artificially cold air from overhead stinging across my skin. It nearly burned it was so cold, but it was nothing compared to the soft trail of fingers over the welts left behind. The pain was exquisite in a way that I hadn’t ever known, each touch of calloused fingertips seemed to not erase the memories of my training, not in the slightest, but made them almost safe again, in a way that they hadn’t been for a very, very long time. There was a soft hushing, the sound almost gentle, and nimble fingers unlocked the the cuffs at both my ankles and wrists before gathering me into a tender embrace perched delicately on a warm lap. His slacks were cool and soft under my heated, stinging thighs and my face was buried in the fine material of his shirt as I openly sobbed, the tears dampening the fabric even as I held it tightly, my fingers twisted in the fine black cotton, shaking despite myself. There were fingers gently combing through my hair; soft words and reassurances whispered into my ear, the same things over and over, that settled over me like a blanket and provided the kind of comfort that I had been searching for since I had last left.

“You’re such a good girl. You did so good for me. I’ve got you, Angel. It’s okay. You’re okay. ” His voice was soothing and safe, and as I buried my face into Mr. Stump’s shirt and let my eyes close as the emotions kept rushing out of me, the gentle touches to my arm and whispers against my hair were a balm to my recently stripped bare soul.


	12. Chapter Twelve

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just to get me through the night.....

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well hi. I did another thing. Ooops? Except not. 
> 
> This chapter... if possible, I am almost more nervous about it than I was about the last one because it is so, so, SO important to me that it be shown as accurately as I can manage, artistic licence not withstanding. Because I absolutely am taking some liberties here and there, as one does. I feel like the things covered in this particular chapter have been addressed FAR less than they should in some very specific work concerning the same subject. So, I try and rectify that in my own little way. Whether it succeeds or not, I do not know, but I am trying at least, liberties and contrivance fairies aside. 
> 
> This is, as always, unbetad so it probably has loads of little mistakes but... nobody wants perfect anyway. 
> 
> Questions, comments and kudos LITERALLY make me happier than anything. I love them even more than unicorns and coffee. And I love those two things A LOT. 
> 
> There are SO MANY Easter eggs that I accidentally on purpose slipped in here because I am that asshole. Can you find them all? Come and chat over at AllKindsOfPlatinumAndPercocet on tumblr and tell me all about it. Please? Pretty, pretty please? 
> 
> This, as usual, is for Flames_And_Jade . Originally it was started as a celebration of her birth. That is back when I thought it was going to just be a quick little tale. Now, I suppose it is just a (hopefully) pretty present for someone I not only respect and admire as a writer but as a person. 
> 
> Thanks and endless crutch flailing goes out to SnitchesAndTalkers for her support, hand holding and occasional verbal asskicking for this. she is one of the bestest of the best. 
> 
> Thank you to everyone who took the time to read this, I know it is a bit... verbose at times but... I appreciate that y'all take your super valuable time and share it with me.
> 
> Aural Satisfaction for this chapter: Twin Skeleton's by Fall Out Boy (I know, about time right?)

I wasn’t sure exactly how long I sat there, falling to pieces in this relative strangers arms, his warm voice and gentle hands coaxing me back to myself until my wracking sobs had calmed to quiet hiccups. It could have been minutes or it could have been hours, there was no way, in this moment for me to know. The only thing I could be certain of, the ONLY thing in my head, was that I was safe. And that feeling, that knowledge was something that I had been missing, and searching endlessly for for months, since I had left those beautiful doors with a cracked heart and a broken spirit. 

I still held Mr. Stump’s shirt clutched in my hands, the fine fabric crushed in my grip. I knew, well some tiny little part of me did anyway, that I needed to move. To stand up, get dressed and get home where I could relax. An image of my tub, the antique clawfoot iron monstrosity, flashed through my mind but that was quickly banished as I felt fingers brush, ever so gently against one of the many welts that criss crossed my back, pulling a strangled whimper from my lips. 

“I’m sorry, Angel.” The words were whispered against my head and there was an honestness to the voice, and I knew the words were genuine. It was a strange feeling, although it shouldn’t have been. In my life, as privileged as I knew it had been, there was so much falseness; everything from apologies to appearances. Nearly everyone had something to hide, and they did so with an ease that was almost astounding. Here, however, in this moment and, more importantly, with this man, there was nothing hidden. Everything had been stripped bare, both literally and figuratively, and those pieces that were exposed, broken and jagged, were ready to be put back together, although how, I did not know, not yet. 

“We need to get you taken care of. I’m going to have Mr. Wentz assist me, if you don’t mind?” As opposed to the commands of earlier, the question was gentle, although that same undercurrent of quiet assuredness still flowed through the words. 

“I-I don’t mind, Sir.” My voice was cracked and broken, even huskier than usual. My throat was raw from sobbing and gasping for breaths; even swallowing hurt. But that was nothing compared to the pain that was settling in across my back, ass and thighs. It was burning and almost all consuming, but with the sparks of fire that spread with each movement, I was reminded of what had brought me here, and what each line represented. 

“Thank you.” The words were a bit louder this time, although no less gentle, and I felt, or thought I did anyway, the feather-light brush of lips against the top of my head before Mr. Stump shifted almost imperceptibly. “If you all wouldn’t mind stepping out, I would greatly appreciate it.. Mr. Wentz?” My eyes were still closed, I couldn’t bring myself to open them, not yet, but I did not need to in order to feel the change in the air; it was a nearly palpable presence. While the words were spoken as a request, and from many others they would have been exactly that, there was no mistaking the tone; this was not a request, it was a polite order. The low buzz of the polite and quiet ‘Yes, Sirs’ and the gentle click of well made shoes on hardwood was the only indication that we’d had an audience at all. Judging by the footsteps, it was not a small one, either.

I heard the door shut with a secure click and then a single set of footfalls crossing the room, coming to a stop just to the left of where Mr. Stump and I sat, still on the leather bench. 

“What did you need from me, Sir?” The voice was quiet, and although it was unfamiliar, there was a certain assuredness behind the words that seemed only fitting for their speaker. Somewhere in the back of my head I registered a fleeting familiarity but could not quite place it for the life of me. Then again, in my current state, I probably wouldn’t recognize my own voice. 

“Your shirt, if you don’t mind. And we… shit.” Mr. Stump trailed off, his fingers gently stroking along my bare arm as he shifted me in his arms. “Charleigh, I just want to get you covered, alright? I need to take care of your back and that is not something that can be done here. Mr. Wentz has been kind enough to sacrifice his shirt to the cause so we can go back to my office.” Though phrased as a question, once again it was not one, although it was far from the same demanding tone that had been used just moments earlier. I nodded, finally cracking open my eyes. They were itchy and sore from sobbing and I could feel the salt tracks of tears drying tight on my cheeks. Hopefully I had been spared the fjords of mascara along with them. Urban Decay had always done right by me before. 

“Yes, Sir. Thank you.” I winced at the words as they ended on a soft whine. Whether that was due to the fact like I sounded like a phone sex operator at the end of a twelve hour shift or that I actually moved to sit up, my already stinging skin pulling taught over muscles that had been still for however long I was not sure. Mr, Stump’s hands guided me easily upright, one carefully on the unmarked skin of my upper back and the other gently under my knees. Taking a deep breath, I glanced up as soft, cool fabric was draped over my shoulders, a pair of unfamiliar hands gently guiding my arms into the garment. Deep golden skin, the kind achieved through heritage as opposed to hours in the sun was liberally covered with dark swirling ink. Between the sobbing fit and the scratchy feel of my contacts, I couldn’t make any of them out clearly and I had a made a mental not to just wear my goddamn glasses next time, Jesus. 

The view changed as the man in front of me crouched down and I met twinkling whiskey colored eyes and a surprisingly gentle smile. “It’s good to see you again, Charleigh.” There was an open sincerity at the words and I dipped my head in respect for a moment before speaking again, even as deft fingers fastened the buttons on the shirt I had been maneuvered into. It was ridiculously cool and luxurious, almost exactly like the one that Mr. Stump wore. The latter, however, was currently covered with my tears, snot and, most likely, more than a bit of makeup. I made a mental not to ask, if it was possible, where they were purchased because they would be perfect for sleeping. 

The thought brought an unbidden giggle to my lips, although the sound quickly transformed into a quiet cry of pain that I futilely tried to hide by biting my lip as Mr. Wentz gathered me into his arms.. It obviously did not work, but I did taste blood behind my teeth, warm, salty and coppery thick. “Peter.” Mr. Stump’s voice is harsh, the single word carrying a heavy, unspoken warning. Glancing up, I caught sight of stormy blue eyes that held an edge of coldness to them and lips set in a firm line. 

“I’m sorry, Sir.” Mr.Wentz’s voice was softer than it hand been prior and I barely had time to attempt to ponder the implications of that when he looked down at me with a small smile. “I apologize, Miss Charleigh. This may hurt a bit but I just need to get you secure. Can you wrap your arms around my neck?” 

I didn’t answer in words, choosing instead to twine my arms, slowly as the movement sent electric sparks of pain through me, around Mr. Wentz’s neck. The simple movement was exhausting, although that could have been the events of the evening, and I let my head rest against the bare warm skin. I could, from this close, make out some of the ink that was just a few inches from my face. The image was instant and strikingly clear in my mind and I had to shake my head to dispel the immediate visions of the stained glass windows and pained looking Crucifixes of the churches and schools of my youth. 

“Follow me.” The words were perfunctory but not nearly as cold as the prior delivery and I could hear the quiet ‘Yes, Sir’ from Mr. Wentz before we were moving. I closed my eyes again, simply to keep from seeing any possible lingering looks, but I could almost feel the change in the air as we made our way down the hallway and out into the main club. The air grew warmer, thicker in a sense, heavy with conversations, shouts and the sounds of both pain and pleasure underscored by a heavy, almost too loud bass heavy track from the hidden speakers overhead. 

I hadn’t realized exactly how much I wanted to be someplace quiet until this exact moment and I whimpered as I pressed my face against Mr. Wentz’s warm neck, trying to find a bit of alm amongst what I knew was controlled chaos that swirled around us. “I know, Sweetheart, just another minute.” The whisper was gentle against the my hair and the endearment, although highly unexpected, was one that calmed me in the strangest of ways. 

When both the air and the sound of footsteps changed again, echoing across marble, my lips twitched into the slightest of smiles as I thought of Lindsey behind her desk, watching everyone that passed with a knowing smile and a hand on her swollen belly. The music continued to fade further as we continued finally coming to a gentle stop. A key clicked in a lock and the gentle push of a door opening were finally comforting enough for me to open my eyes and I did so once I heard the snick of a lock clicking, “The couch please, Mr. Wentz.” The directive was quiet and nearly gentle, barely even finished before Mr. Wentz was moving again. There were no footfalls to hear, and I had no doubt that the carpet beneath his feet was plush. From where I rested against Mr. Wentz’s chest, I could see flashes of elegant, deep navy and striking white on the walls and from the corner of my eye the briefest glimpse of a rich, mahogany desk. It suited him, somehow. 

“Charleigh?” Our brief journey stopped abruptly and I lifted my head to glance over at Mr. Stump who stood no more than four feet away, his expression soft. 

“Yes, Sir?” The crack was still there, as was the pain in my throat, but there was no waver and for that I was glad. 

“I want to make sure that we get you taken care of but I am going to need to to get out of that shirt and laying down first, can you do that on your own or do you need help?” 

“I’d like to try, if I may.” My own words were hesitant in response, but true. I had, since almost before I had been able to walk, been dancing and that ability to move, to have an assurance of my own body and to be able to have that independence was something I had always cherished. It was one of the only things that my parents had not been able to assert control over. Despite my comfort with both of the men in the room, I needed to try and find that again. 

“Alright then. Mr. Wentz can either stay or go, it is all your choice. But I would prefer the former at least for a few minutes.” There was something that lingered just barely behind the words and as much as I wanted, for a moment, to question them, I couldn’t bring myself to do so, and instead nodded. 

“That is absolutely fine, Sir. I appreciate the input, thank you.” I let my gaze drift back to Mr. Stump and asw a gentle smile grace his features before he gave a nod at Mr. Wentz.

“Alright, down we go. But carefully, okay? I’ll keep my hands on your waist. I won’t let you fall.” The voice was low, almost whispered into my ear and just as sure as the movements that the man made, bending slightly to let my legs go, my bare feet brushing the thick carpet below and I let my arms hang down loosely at my sides, my fingertips brushing across the hem of the shirt that hung halfway down my thighs.. I closed my eyes, focusing on anything but the searing pain that seemed to flame along my back once again as I tried to straighten up. It was not to be. My knees wobbled in defiance of my mind’s commands otherwise and they buckled, giving way just as strong hands wrapped tightly around my waist, pulling me both up and gently back, my shoulders resting against the chest I had just been held against. Tears returned, unbidden, to my eyes, born of frustration as opposed to pain. “It’s alright, Sweetheart.” Mr. Wentz’s voice was gentle and reassuring, but sadly did very little to easy my own disappointment with myself even as I fought to keep them from falling. 

“Angel.” The word was a whisper and a pair of fingers brushed tenderly under my chin to raise my head. I met a pair of clear blue eyes that held both strength and a quiet compassion. “You are doing beautifully. There is nothing wrong with needing help, that is what I am here for. Let yourself accept it please.” This time it was a request, a very, very gentle one at that, and a tear slipped down my cheek as I nodded, trying to swallow back a sob and failing miserably. The tear was brushed easily away by the swipe of a thumb and I struggled against the next ones that wanted to fall. 

Nimble fingers worked quickly at the buttons on the borrowed garment I wore, easing it off my shoulders in a practiced and unspoken coordination with Mr. Wentz who shifted his grip on my waist to let the shirt fall to the floor. 

“Good. Now Mr. Wentz is going to help you sit and then I need you to roll on your stomach for me. It will hurt, but I know that you can handle it for just a moment.” There was encouragement, quiet and consistent woven through the words, and I dipped my head, following along with the gentle lead of the hands that went from holding my waist to guiding me down to the sofa. 

And it hurt. Jesus did it hurt. Scalding stripes of pain even through the fuzzy blanket that had been lain on the couch had me trembling. With each move it was different, more intense and at the same time grounding me into the moment, giving me something to focus on and tether me to myself as though I would, somehow float away. 

I bit down on my tongue, hard as I twisted to stretch out and the acrid, metallic taste that filled my mouth, the familiar slight sweetness of it gave me focus, pulling my attention, just for a moment, from the excruciating ache of my ass until finally, blissfully, I was stretched out, pressed against a blanket that was warm and light against my overheated and over sensitive skin. 

Opening my eyes again, I am met with a blinding smile as Mr. Stump knelt beside me, brushing my hair back out of my face. “Good Girl.” The two words of praise made the pain decrease, just for an instant, and I offered a small, smile. 

“Thank you, Sir.” 

“”You are very welcome, Charleigh.” Mr. Stump shifted as he spoke, turning to gesture to Mr. Wentz whose hand appeared in my line of sight with an unfamiliar deep purple bottle. “I’m going to put something on these welts to help ease the pain for you, alright?” I didn’t respond, instead closing my eyes against the touch that I knew would be coming and preparing as much as I could. “You did beautifully, Angel.” The words were almost off hand, a pretty, pretty distraction as calloused fingers slowly, so slowly spread the chilled lotion over my back, starting just beneath my shoulder blades and trailing down to cover every inch of tender skin to the end of the marks on my thighs. The gentle praise was consistent through the entire process, Mr. Stump’s soft, deep voice neary melodic as he worke. The words served as a beautiful counterpoint to the touch of his hands, hot at first, searing even against the raised lines of red, before melting into a beautiful, freezing numbness that did not exactly dull the pain, not really, but transformed it into something that was tolerable, at least from this position, anyway. As soon as I had to move, though, well that was anyones guess. 

I let my mind wander, focusing on the touch and the words, the sweet and unexpected honey scent of the lotion, instead of the ache and I drifted into something approaching sleep, although I was aware of everything to an almost heightened degree. My mind was clear for the first time in what felt like forever, a certain calm settling amongst the usual questions and chaos. 

It wasn’t until I felt the touch to my arm that I opened my eyes again, blinking through dry, itchy contacts to try and focus. 

“Are you alright?” There was more than a bit of concern in Mr. Stump’s voice and I nodded in affirmative, my voice seemingly hiding behind a raw ache in my throat, the soft blanket tickling against my cheek. 

“Good.” I watched as he shifted, twisting to settle on the floor beside me, his legs crossed beneath him. There was an expression on his face that I couldn’t place and his lips twitched into a frown as he pulled off his glasses, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I’m.. I don’t want to seem forward or like I am taking advantage or as like I am doing anything that G- anything untoward, and I promise you that there is nothing of the sort here.” Even though he hadn’t said it, the implication was evident in both Mr. Stump’s tone and the near slip of a name that brought back a dull stab of hurt. “Lindsey said that you don’t have a parking pass which means you either walked here or took a cab. I am not, in any possible way, comfortable with you getting home the same way.” The slight hesitance behind his words, combined with what I knew, somehow, was protectiveness written across his features and the quiet strength that the man always held was a beguiling contrast, and one that had me curious. “I have an apartment in the building, all of the Dominants do. There are spare rooms, two of them at the moment, and either one is yours for the evening if you would like. Nothing would be expected in return, I am simply worried about you Angel. Tonight was a lot, more than it probably should have been, and I have seen far more experienced subs not be able to handle everything that you took tonight, physically that is. Emotionally…” Mr. Stump’s voice trailed off and his hand carded through my hair again, the gesture comforting. “Would you stay, please?” 

It was a question this time, there was no evidence of a command in the words. They were measured and quiet, the last one just a bit quieter than the rest as Mr. Stump met my eyes again, the question that he had spoken echoed in their depths. 

“I think that would be for the best, Sir. Thank you.” I replied immediately, and honestly. I only ever really lied to myself, but I knew, despite how much I would have liked to think otherwise, that I would not be able to make it home. 

His smile at my words was not restrained in the slightest, there was no politeness about it; it was absolute light. 

“Thank you.” The whisper was one that harkened back to a night that seemed a lifetime ago; one that had been filled with blue ropes, demands that I could not meet, and a calming presence that I had not even known I had needed. “When you are ready, I can help you with your shirt and we can head up. Mr. Wentz will be accompanying us as well, unless you have any objections?” 

I cast a gaze up at the mentioned gentleman who was sat almost casually on the arm of the couch I was stretched on, his eyes fixed on Mr. Stump before darting to me. There was an unabashed smile on his face, one that he didn’t seem like he cared to hide, and it suited him well. “Of course, that is fine, Sir. We can go now if you would like.” I was suddenly, almost frighteningly overcome with exhaustion and cold, goosebumps forming along my spine as I fought to keep from shivering in the artificially cold air. 

“Thank you, Charleigh. I will call Lindsey and have your belongings sent up for you, if she hasn’t done it already. There are moments I am sure that woman knows something the rest of us don’t.” The latter part of the statement was almost muttered under his breath, but it brought a smile to my lips even as I moved, and a deep laugh sounded from behind me. The sound was entirely unlike Mr. Wentz and yet exactly how it would seem it should be, braying and honest. 

“I’m telling you, that woman just knows. Maternal instinct or something.” Mr. Wentz’s remark was offhand, his voice light, but the movements of his hands were steady and sure as both Mr. Stump and he worked carefully to reverse the routine of earlier and after some moments of bright pain, I was easily back in both his shirt and his arms. 

The trip up to Mr. Stump’s apartment was quick, the entire club skipped over for an elevator that was down a hall I had never even noticed. It was a smooth ride, gliding easily to a stop and the doors slid open silently, letting a rush of cold air into the space. I couldn’t hide my shiver and Mr. Wentz held me just a bit closer as we followed behind Mr. Stump. There was no door, the elevators opening directly into what seemed from my limited view, an expansive apartment. It was dark, save for a lamp or two, but beyond the windows that made up the far wall, the Vegas lights twinkled and provided more than enough illumination. 

From my vantage point, I couldn’t judge size, not at all, but based on the journey to the closed white door and the stairs, however few there had been, the phrase ‘apartment’ was most likely not entirely accurate. 

I fought a yawn, weary in both mind and body, and felt a chuckle deep in Mr. Wentz’s chest as we moved into what must have been the spare room. There was, once again, a lack of footfalls, but the distinctive rustle of a down duvet brought me more than a little comfort. 

“Down we go, Sweetheart.” I was carefully lowered onto a plush bed, the sheets cool and soft beneath my still heated and hurting skin, and I whined pitifully as I shifted to lay down, pressing my face against the pillow as I stretched out, squeezing my eyes closed against the sparks. 

“Thank you, Pete. If you wouldn’t mind?” The change in title did not escape me, not even in my soul-weary state, and I attempted to make a note of it, but the thought was lost as the bed beside me dipped and the blankets were drawn up to rest carefully over my still back, the material of Mr. Wentz’s shirt keeping it from my skin. “You can rest as long as you need, Charleigh. We can talk in the morning if you would like. I think, actually, that would probably be the best, but not until you are ready.” The gentle, easy cadence of Mr. Stump’s words and familiar timbre of his voice was relaxing and I could feel myself drifting even as he spoke. 

I nodded my head, a muffled sound of agreement stifled against the pillow as I snuggled into the luxurious bed, sleep pulling at the edges of my consciousness. I wasn’t entirely out however, and the laugh that drifted to my ears was low and almost musical; I longed, even in my sleep drunk state, to hear it again. 

“Don’t worry your head, just go to sleep.” The words were a song, sweet and pure, whispered into the dark as I started to give into sleep, a tender touch to my cheek the last thing I felt before I slipped into the sweet ether of sleep.


	13. Chapter Thirteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Good mornings indeed...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just keep setting myself up for nerves. This is so far outside of my wheelhouse that I am a little bit lost. What's going on? What is this? Who am I? But there is a first time for everything, so....
> 
> Unbetd cause this is how I do it. Mistakes are mine and mine alone. 
> 
> Comments, kudos and questions are always welcome with open arms and you will probably receive endless babble in return because awkward writer is awkward. 
> 
> This is far shorter than I had wanted it to be, but combining it with what needs to happen next would have felt... not wrong, as it were, but not right either. So... have another interlude of sorts. 
> 
> Flames_And_Jade, you are beyond golden my dear, I hope you are having the best of days. This is for you. 
> 
> SnitchesAndTalkers well... I tried, good morning, don't judge me.
> 
> Thank you all for taking the time to read. If you wanted to review or leave kudos, there are little buttons below. Everytime you press them, Patrick smiles. I hope you enjoy. 
> 
> Aural Pleasure this chapter is 'Delicate Dream' by Shana Halligan. it should absolutely be played while listening.

I didn’t want to wake up, not at all. Sleep was absolutely blissful and the cloud that I was laying in was, to be beautifully cliche, heavenly.. My dreams, although fleeting, left a sense of comfort behind them as they faded swiftly into the ether. The early morning sun, however, had different ideas than I did, a bit more in line with those of my bladder, and it poured in the windows. Windows that were, decidedly in the wrong place. As the last vestiges of sleep finally slipped away, I opened my eyes, dry and aching behind my contacts to blink at my surroundings. Dove grey walls with white trim, simple but elegant white furnishings and a vase of light blue hydrangeas rested on to of the bureau. The mirror behind it reflected the large bed that I was currently in, surrounded by bright white linens, the black shirt I was wearing staring out starkly in the muted surroundings. I blinked again, wincing at the sore burn in my eyes and shifted, the movement bringing with it a dull, throbbing ache that spread from the backs of my thighs to my upper back. Oh. OH. 

The memories flooded back in a rush, images of kind eyes and dark tattoos twisting with the knowledge of pain, raw and visceral, the physical almost secondary to the emotional. The more that comes back, as sleep dissipates and consciousness becomes clearer, the less ache comes with it, emotionally. The physical pain was still there, although that too had lessened with sleep. 

Pushing aside the down comforter, I take a moment to delight in the rustle and slowly, almost gingerly move to drape my legs over the bed. The pain is there but not nearly as blinding as it had been. My muscles ache deeply, but that is familiar, the pain almost welcome after years in the ballet studio and stage. Bracing my hands on the edge of the mattress, I push myself forward just enough to slip off the edge and let my toes brush the plush carpet. Everything is still blurry and a bit faded at the edges but the cool air from above is crisp and refreshing, bringing at least one sense into clean, sharp focus. Pushing off the bed slowly, I sink from my tiptoes to flat foot, rolling through the motion and bending my knees with it. I shook slightly, perhaps more from sleep than anything, but I was not unsteady and I took careful steps towards the two doors in the corner of the room. One was closed, a closet most likely, but the other was cracked and I pushed it open, delighted to find an ensuite bathroom. 

Tasteful grey was again accented by sharp white with splashes of deep, rich navy that echoed the walls of Mr. Stump’s office in the club so many floors below. The glass walled shower tucked into the corner was beyond inviting but I managed to refrain, although it was not easy. I cleaned up quickly, as much as I could at the sink, the soft cotton of a washcloth still a bit too rough against my tender skin. There was always later. My reflection was still a blurry mess and I wrinkled my nose in the mirror as I worked my contacts out, depositing them in the trash can with a sigh. While my vision wasn’t much better, there was at least some clarity and I could make out my features a bit better. My hair was a mess, tousled as it fell just barely past my shoulders, and I cleaned up the smudges of eyeliner and mascara around my eyes before brushing my teeth with the new paste and brush that sat on the edge of the counter, thankful for small kindnesses. Tugging my fingers one last time through my knotted hair, I gave up on it and turned with careful steps to to find Mr. Stump. There was no clock in the room and my phone was who knows where so I had no clue what time it was as I carefully opened the door as quietly as possible. The carpet that lined the floor in the room I had slept in gave way to hardwood floors, smooth and cool under my bare feet while I wandered down the hallway. Finding the stairs, I gripped the railing maybe a bit tighter than I needed to, taking each step slowly and silently until I reached the bottom. I knew, logically, that I was not in any danger of falling, but logic was not still one-hundred percent before caffeine. The windows making up the far wall of what looked to be a living room were uncovered, the light pouring in and the strip looking almost unnaturally dull and small from up so high. The clock on the wall above a plush looking black couch read six thirty-seven and I cursed my body for not letting me sleep in even when I really, really should. 

The habit was one that dated back to high school when I’d had ballet lessons before school. I supposed that sleeping till nearly six thirty was better than being in an empty ballet studio at five thirty. Then again, I wasn’t sixteen anymore. Shaking away the thought I let my gaze wander over the open expanse of the living area. There was a tasteful elegance to the decor, although it was underscored by a definitely masculine edge that seemed to suit the inhabitant of the space. What I knew of him, anyway. The living room and dining area were an open concept and a glass topped table with seating for six was across the expansive space from the wall of windows that looked down on the city. New York may have been the city that never sleeps, but Vegas was not far behind. Then again, from what I had seen in the last few years, Vegas was a city that attained that by dumping a Red Bull into a mug of espresso and shotgunned it before meandering to an all you can eat buffet for bottomless Bloody Marys.

 

I crossed over to the wall that housed an expansive television and all of the associated foofaraw and let my gaze wander over the shelving unit around it. The black matte shelves were scattered with both mementos and photographs, many seemingly unrelated to each other in any way almost as though they belonged to two separate people. The majority of the shelves, however, were what held my interest. Rows upon rows of books, journals and vinyl albums seemed carefully, almost methodically, arranged, although I couldn't quite figure out what that arrangement actually was. 

I let my fingers trail over the edges of the nearest shelf of records, the plastic covers cool and slick under my fingers. I slipped one out at random, smiling when the familiar ‘Grace’ greeted me. It was still lovely, even after so many listenings and I could hear the tinkling notes, just off the key of reason, in my mind as I carefully slipped it back into place. 

The apartment was cold, almost overly so, but there was something comforting about the chill and I ran my hands over my forearms, pushing the unbuttoned cuffs of the shirt up from where they hung past my fingertips. It was an exercise in futility. Taking careful steps, I made my way towards what I assumed was the kitchen, the low hum of appliances a barely noticeable white noise against the otherwise strange early morning quiet. That, of course, only lasted a moment before a low sound drifted to my ears, followed by a muffled laugh. 

Curiosity may have killed the cat, but last time I checked I did not have paws, so I decided to go with it. Worst case, it was Mr. Stump and he was not a morning person. Best case, it was Mr. Stump and he had coffee. Either way, there was a promise of both company and coffee, co it couldn’t really end badly. Keeping up my cautious movements, my quads finally protesting, my toes hit the cool of the tile in the kitchen and I stopped cold in the doorway. I had found Mr. Stump without a doubt, more of him than I had anticipated. He was not alone, however. At all. Mr. Wentz was on his knees, eyes closed and his mouth stretched wide around Mr. Stump’s cock. Pale hands were twisted into dark hair, tugging and guiding the man’s head into an easy bob. Both men had their eyes closed and even from where I stood, there seemed to be the ghost of a smile on Mr. Wentz’s face, despite not actually being able to smile as his mouth was otherwise occupied. Dark fingers pressed firmly against pale, strong looking thighs and the contrast was far more appealing than it should have been. I let my gaze wander, even though I shouldn’t have. 

The restrained, reserved men that I had come to know were gone. Dark suits and fine shirts had been traded for sleep rumpled and well worn pajama pants and t-shirts so faded that the designs, whatever they may have been, were just outlines, the fabric soft looking with washings and wear. Mr. Wentz’s hair was messy, although the hands that were currently tugging on it probably had a thing to do with that. I let my eyes travel upwards, not unnoticing of the quick flashes of what seemed to be a very pretty, and very impressive, pink cock that slid in and out of Mr. Wentz’s lips. I felt a flush creep over my cheeks as I took in Mr. Stump’s faded grey t-shirt, two sizes too large with the outline of a vaguely familiar band logo nearly legible on the front and stretched at the neckline to flash just the slightest hint of collarbone. The line of his neck was pale and elegant, head tossed back in passion that was written plain on his face. The biggest shock for me, although I don’t know why, was his bare head; ginger hair, usually so well hidden, was mussed from sleep, stick up here and there in a way that was far more attractive than it should have been.

“Pete, your fucking mouth is- .” The words dissolved into a deep, throaty groan I knew I was in trouble almost before I actually was. The sound startled me, and I stumbled slightly, my aching legs sending me directly into the doorframe with a muffled thump as pain blossomed back through the already sensitive flesh. 

Blue eyes popped open and met mine as heat rushed up my neck and over my face, embarrassment at being caught peeking over weighing, for the moment at least, the physical pain. There was a flash behind Mr. Stump’s lust darkened eyes and he stared for just a moment before tapping two fingers twice against Mr. Wentz’s head. The man stopped immediately and drew back, Mr. Stump’s very, very pretty cock popping from his lips with an extremely obscene pop. His dark gaze was far lazier than the sharp blue ones that were currently resting on my face, but there was a smile on his lips and drool on his chin as he reached a hand down to adjust the noticeable bulge in his Batman print pajama pants. It should have been unattractive. It was not. 

Mentally cursing myself, I trip over my words, stuttering to make sense of all of the things that were in my head as I twisted the hem of the shirt I was wearing between between nervous fingers. “I’m sorry I was just- I get up early and was just- I didn’t mean to spy and I was- coffee.” The last word cracked, my throat even more sore than it had been last night. 

A teasing smile pulled at Mr. Wentz’s lips as his hand curved around the prick that was still hard just inches from his face, and he arched a brow, head canting to the side and sliding his hand from base to tip almost agonizingly slowly. The motion earned him a glare, albeit one without any heat behind it and a sharp yank on his hair, pulling his head back. “Pete. Play nice.” Despite the firmness of the words, there was an undeniable fondness in Mr. Stuump’s words and, judging by the stifled groan in Mr. Wentz’s throat, he was enjoying himself more than a little. 

Swallowing thickly, I finally force myself to meet Mr. Stump’s eyes again, the blue dark and almost twinkling in the overhead lighting. “Good morning, Charleigh. Coffee can be arranged if you just give us a few minutes? I wasn’t sure how early you woke up and Pete can be a convincing little shit when he wants something.” There was the slightest edge of a rasp to the words, brought on no doubt by the hand that was creeping slowly up his thigh. Or maybe the one that was smoothly jerking his cock. Mr. Wentz, for his part simply smiled, looking absurdly pleased with himself. 

I shook myself out of my stupor enough to finally find my voice again, although it was still huskier and far more tremulous than I would have liked. “Of course, I’m sorry Sir, I’ll just go back to my room. Your room. Bed. I -fuck. I’ll just go.” I sounded ridiculous, tripping over my words like an absolute idiot, but I could not find even the slightest hint of judgement on Mr. Stump’s face, which was where I was steadfastly keeping my gaze, only a serene smile. 

“Or you could stay and watch.” Mr. Wentz spoke as though he was suggesting going out for pancakes, casual as the day is long, but here was mischief behind his whiskey eyes as his tongue flicked out to tease the head of Mr. Stump’s cock, earning a hiss from the redheaded man. “If you wanted to that is.” 

“Would you like to stay, Charleigh?” The voice was low, richer than I had heard before now and it sent a wholly unnecessary chill down my spine that had nothing to do with the central air. “Pete doesn’t mind, obviously, and you are, of course, more than welcome to do exactly as you please. What do you think, Angel?”


	14. Chapter Fourteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Is it really a tease if you know there is going to be follow through?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay! More words that make me flail and question everything! 
> 
> You know what helps me not question? comments, kudos and questions. I love them all and there are little places down at the end where you can leave all those things. So if you have a spare minute or three and were so inclined, that would be amazing. 
> 
> As always, not betad. I... am running out of creative ways to claim my mistakes. so... they are mine, you can't have them. 
> 
> This one, as always, goes out to the illustrious Flames_And_Jade who never fails to make me smile with her amazing self. 
> 
> And a super special thank you to SnitchesAndTalkers for like... everything. I hope I did you proud. And also, don't hate me. Okay? Okay. 
> 
> And you! You right there, reading this when you could be folding socks or catching up on GOT or making a peanut butter sandwich... ANYTHING else really, with your important time. Thank you so much for choosing to share that with me. it means so much. I really hope you enjoy. 
> 
> Aural Pleasure this time around is 'Undisclosed Desires' by Muse. Put. It. On. Repeat. Please.

The question hung in the air for a moment, as I pondered, the possibilities and implications swirling in my mind. I knew, logically, that there may not be any implications if I said no. Then again, there may not be any implications if I said yes, either. But there also might. Tugging my bottom lip between my teeth, I flick my tongue over the tiny cut left from the previous night, the barest hint of a sting delightful. Mr. Stump had said, very explicitly, that there was nothing expected from me for staying and I believed him with all that I was. The offer was not at all quid-pro-quo and that was the one thing that tilted my decision as I spoke before I even really registered my own words. “I think I would like to stay, Sir.” There was no real hesitance in my tone, but my voice was quiet nonetheless, more because my throat was still raw than anything else. 

Mr. Stump grinned brightly, his eyes crinkling in the corners behind his glasses dropping his gaze to Mr. Wentz’s head as he gave a sharp pull on the strands, just once, before tilting his chin up. I watched from my position in the doorway as their eyes met and a conversation seemed to occur, one that I had no part of but was fascinated by anyway. Mr. Wentz’s dark head dropped in a brief nod and he leaned in with a sly grin, brushing a chase kiss to the head of Mr. Stump’s cock before pushing up from the floor and tugging his shirt off in that easy way that only men could manage, throwing it aside absently. 

“You can come in you know, Charleigh.” The words were accompanied by a smile, one which I returned as I made my way from the doorway into the large room. Like the rest of the apartment, it was expansive; all beautiful stainless appliances, copper and stainless cookware hanging from pot racks above the stove, the height adjusted for Mr. Stump. I had a brief moment of jealousy at that tiny detail; climbing on chairs to reach upper shelves got old very fast. There was gleaming marble lining the island and counters , the latter of which held a set of Star Wars coffee mugs beside an absolutely gorgeous Keurig tucked in the corner. That, however, could wait as Mr. Wentz’s bright grin came into my line of sight with a proffered elbow. It was a sweet, antiquated gesture that made me laugh as I slipped my arm in his. 

Mr. Stump stayed where he was, plaid sleep pants still around his ankles, as he watched me with an intense gaze. “If you are still sore, and I know you are so don’t deny it, the island would probably feel exquisite on your bruises.” The suggestion was one made out of concern and it touched me in a way I hadn’t expected, drawing a warmth to my cheeks that had finally seemed to fade from my escapades of earlier. 

“Thank you Sir, I would like that.” Dropping Mr. Wentz’s arm with a smile, I braced my hands on the cool surface to hop up but my attempt was quickly thwarted as Mr. Wentz’s now familiar hands gripped my waist and lifted me easily, setting me down gently on the cool, slick surface. I hadn’t doubted Mr. Stump’s suggestion for a moment, but when my ass, still tender and no doubt covered in bruises of every size and ilk hit the island top, I squeaked in surprise at the cold but quickly relaxed into the feeling. 

My reaction seemed to please both men in the room, Mr. Stump smiling and Mr. Wentz laughing aloud, the same almost goose like bray that I had heard last night; it was comforting and familiar, bringing a bit of levity to a situation that could very easily be far too heavy. 

“Charleigh, if I can ask a favor?” Mr. Stump’s tone had taken on a bit of a serious note, the tone going far enough to make it possible to ignore the fact that he was both half naked and half hard in his kitchen. 

“Of course, Sir, anything.” My answer was automatic and I meant it, each word. There was, as I was quickly realizing, little this man would ask of me that I would not at least try to accommodate to the best of my ability. 

He gave a small chuckle and brushed a strand of hair off of his glasses. “I know the rules we have set downstairs, and those are still valid, of course, unless you decide otherwise, but if you could see fit to indulge me a bit. When we are here, if you are again, it’s Patrick, please. And Pete. While who we are doesn’t fundamentally change, it is nice to have a bit of separation, if that makes any sense.” He finished with a smile, sweet and sincere and I found myself nodding.

“It makes perfect sense, I’ll remember that Si- Patrick.” The name was almost foreign on my tongue, but it seemed right in a way, at least it did here away from all of the red walls and high protocol of the club that was below us. 

“Thank you, Angel. Now I hope- Jesus fuck. A little warning next time, Pete?” The beginning of the question was lost as Mr. Wentz-Pete- wrapped his hand back around Patrick’s cock again, jerking it slowly as he fell to his knees, a playful grin and wink tossed casually over his shoulder at me before he leaned back in and slipped his lips just around the pink head, no doubt teasing with his tongue if the reaction of the redheaded man was anything to go by. Pale hands returned into dark hair, jerking firmly and pulling Pete’s lips off his cock with an audible pop. I could see, from my elevated perch, the glee that played on his face as he glanced up, his voice filled with false innocence and light.

“Something wrong Trick?” Pete was teasing, his fingers trailing up and down pale thighs that just barely trembled beneath the touch. 

“You are a little shit, Peter and you know it.” Blue eyes flicked from Pete up to me for the briefest of moments and I shifted under the intensity of the gaze, far from uncomfortable. “Play nice or don’t play at all.” While the words may have been a command, they did not have the same resonance as they would have if spoken downstairs and Pete, for his part, gave a half hearted salute and sat back on his heels, teasing his tongue along the underside of Patrick’s prick before taking it back between his lips and sliding down until I could see his nose brushing the coarse ginger hair that just barely gleamed in the bright overhead lights. 

 

Patrick’s moan this time was not nearly as stifled, deep and drawn out as one hand passed over Pete’s hair as he gave him a fond look before twisting his fingers back in the messy strands and pulling back to meet eyes that were wide open and gleaming. I could see the slightest nod of Pete’s head and Patrick’s smile was all teeth as he pushed his hips forward again, holding his head tightly in place as he set a rhythm, hard, fast and steady. 

My fingers found their way to twist into the long cuffs of my borrowed shirt, twisting the fine fabric between them as I leaned forward just slightly for a better view of the spectacle before me. Pete sat still on the floor, swaying just a bit with the particularly hard thrusts of Patrick’s hips, his head held firmly in place by very, very capable hands. The muscles under honeyed skin, traced with dark ink in patterns I wanted to study, flexed and bunched as he rocked backward during a particularly hard thrust. Patrick, once again, had his head thrown back, his moans coming free and easy, punctuated with small gasps and muttered curses under his breath as Pete’s fingers wandered, trailing up over his thighs and back down to graze over well muscled calves before repeating the circuit again and again in a tantalizing loop, although his fingers crept just the slightest bit higher on each upstroke. “Peter, stop being a fucking tease. Now.” There was a command that time and Pete pulled against the hands tight in his hard enough to untangle them and Patrick’s cock sprang free as the man on his knees drew in a deep breath and Patrick moaned at the loss of sensation. 

“Patrick, stop being a fucking bitch. Jesus you’re an asshole when you are getting your dick sucked.” There was a laugh in Pete’s words and he wiped a hand absently over his chin. His lips were red and swollen and he was looking up at Patrick with a gleam in his eyes that I could see from here. Judging from Patrick’s narrowed, slightly confused expression, he could see it too. There was another unspoken conversation that I watched with awe before Pete craned his head over his shoulder. “Can I borrow you for just a second, Sweetheart?” 

It took me a moment before I realized I was actually being addressed and I startled at the words, blinking as I met Patrick’s gaze. He seemed as surprised as I was if his expression was anything to go by but he said nothing. Running my tongue over dry lips, I braced my hands on the edge of the island and slid down carefully, landing on my tiptoes before sinking down to my feet. Pete was on his knees maybe three feet from me, and he gave a reassuring smile, warm and genuine, before tapping a hand on the floor beside him. I crossed the distance quickly and carefully settled onto the floor beside him. The tile floor was just as cool as the island and I delighted in the feel of it against my battered skin for a moment before Pete leaned closer to me with a smile and pressed a kiss to my cheek, his lips lingering near my ear while his free hand stroked slowly along the length of Patrick’s cock, pulling sweet, soft moans from deep in his throat even as he watched us with intense blue eyes. 

A thumb brushed against my lower lip and warm breath ghosted over the hair that fell in messy waves over my ear before being pushed behind my shoulder. I could hear the smile in his voice and fought the urge to lean closer. “Open.” I did, quickly ,and was rewarded with a chuckle, low and breathy against my neck as two fingers slipped between my lips, teasing against my tongue. “Suck.” The word was muffled this time, pressed against the pulsepoint just behind my ear and I heard Patrick suck in a sharp breath as I complied once again, sliding my tongue over the fingers in my mouth down to the knuckle and trailing over the space between them. The quiet groans were in stereo this time and I glanced up through lowered lashes to meet Patrick’s burning gaze, his eyes almost impossibly dark.

“Jesus fuck. Look at you two.” It was barely more than a whisper and Pete smiled against my neck, the reaction obviously what he was going for. Pulling his wet fingers from my mouth, I barely had time to process the loss before lips were on mine, full and slick, teeth nipping almost tenderly before pulling back. I sat, wide eyed and panting, watching as Pete held Patrick’s gaze with a grin. His hand slipped back out of my view, even from this angle, although the cry that rang out as Patrick’s hips snapped backwards solidified the thought that was currently swirling through my mind. I whimpered, the sound muffled against my own wrist as Pete leaned forward again, wrapping his lips around Patrick’s dick and hollowing his cheeks to suck hard, eyes wide open and clear, focused on Patrick’s face as the paler man rocked back and forth between pressing against Pete’s fingers and pushing into his mouth. 

The gasps and cries were louder, their almost deliberate timing becoming ragged as Patrick’s composure started to break. His hands moved to twist tight in Pete’s hair, brushing my cheek softly before thrusting forward once, twice, three times more and he broke with a jagged cry of Pete’s name ringing in the air. He was beautiful. 

Still rocking slightly, Pete swallowed, his gaze never wavering and finally pulled away with a shit eating grin and swiped the back of his free hand over his lips. Patrick, still trembling, opened his eyes, and smiled down at Pete tenderly, his hand stretching to cup his stubbled cheek. Despite what I had just witnessed, there was something intimate about the moment, far more so than the ones before as Pete turned into the touch and brushed a kiss against Patrick’s palm. 

“You are fucking amazing, you know that right?” The words were quiet, spoken as Patrick slid to the ground on shaky legs before sliding his pants back up around his waist. 

“You’re just saying that cause you think you will get lucky. You forget I’m a sure thing.” Even with his voice wrecked, there was a lightness in Pete’s response, his smile soft as he leaned in for a kiss. I did drop my gaze at that, feeling suddenly far too warm despite the frigid air spilling out of the vents overhead. 

Fingertips skimmed over my cheek and I glanced up, my hair swinging in front of my eyes for a moment until I met Patrick’s gaze again. It was softer than I had seen before, sated and sweet, almost a bit fuzzy as though he was still waking up which seemed to make sense. “Are you still good?” 

I nodded immediately, my smile easy and genuine. “I’m beyond good. A little overwhelmed, maybe, and overheated, but not in a bad way.” The answer was honest and I didn’t hesitate for a second, enjoying the calloused touch against my cheek. I hadn’t seen a guitar on my brief explorations this morning, but I had no doubt there was one somewhere in the apartment. 

“Overheated, hmm? Well that isn’t good.” There was a slight tease to the words and Patrick’s fingers slipped down to pluck at the collar of my shirt, his gaze traveling down the material that hung loosely over my outstretched legs. “Can we help?” It was a loaded question and the brush of Pete’s fingers as he pushed my hair over my shoulder and just barely pulled down the collar of my shirt had me shivering before I could answer. 

“You’re shivering. Sure you aren’t cold, Tiny Dancer?” There was that smile again, all teeth and trouble, pressed against the skin he had exposed, nipping before he pulled away and leaned around my side with a look that was equally mischievous and hungry .“Hmmm. Maybe we should turn the air conditioning. We wouldn’t want our guest to get cold.”

Patrick smiled indulgently, the expression hinting at years of knowledge of Pete’s antics, and pushed himself up off the floor in a swift move, extending a hand down to me. “Perhaps, Peter, the first step in changing that would be getting up off the fucking floor.” There was fake condemnation in his voice and as I took his hand to stand carefully, I saw the smile playing on his lips. 

The man on the floor feigned hurt, pressing a hand not exactly subtlely between his legs before he stood, slipping an arm around my waist and nuzzling his nose over my ear. “See what I have to put up with?” 

Patrick laughed, rich and warm, his hand slipping past Pete’s arm to rest against my lower back gently guiding me out of the kitchen. “What you have to put up with? Pete. Please.” 

An indignant scoff was the only response as Pete splayed his fingers over my hip and the three of us ambled down the small passage to the living area. “Where to, Trick?”

“Couch is always a good choice, cozy, good warmth potential.” The words were tossed off casually and Patrick glanced at the sofa that was pushed up against the wall. 

“Veto. Not enough space for possible cuddling. Tiny Dancer is about to pass out from hypothermia. Let’s take this time to not be a dick. You could save a life, Tricky.” Pete grinned as he spoke, easily steering us towards the stairs. 

“Call me Tricky again, Peter Lewis Kingston Wentz The Third and the only life that will need saving is yours.” There was no hesitation in the statement, and Patrick turned his head to hide the ghost of a smile that twitched at the corner of his lips but gave me a quick wink.

“You say the nicest things, Pattycakes, really.” Again, the nickname got nothing but rolled eyes and an insouciant middle finger as we headed up the stairs and down the hallway that the room I had slept in was located. 

“And this just after I had his dick in my mouth. You see what I have to deal with, Charleigh? I mean really. You just can’t win, no matter what you do.” The laughter in Pete’s voice was contagious and I had to bite back a giggle as Patrick gave a long suffering sigh and pushed open a door at the end of the hall. 

“If you’re going to play the martyr, Pete, don’t forget the fingers up my ass, okay? At least get the details right.” The delivery was dry, and heavy on the sarcasm, but Patrick grabbed Pete’s wrist on his way by and pulled him in for a chaste kiss that earned a bright smile from Pete. “Laugh it up, Asshole.”

“Maybe, maybe. But I am your asshole.” Pete tossed the words over his shoulder as he jumped onto that sat against the far wall of the room, splaying out across the white comforter. More down. 

Patrick’s laugh was bright and clear, and he draped an arm over my shoulders, his free hand running through his messy hair. “He really is, you know.” We walked slowly, the hardwood cool under my feet and I leaned into his side with a smile. 

“I can tell. It’s… sweet.” “I glanced up out of the corner of my eye to catch a mischievous gleam in Patrick’s eyes, not unlike the one that head been in Pete’s earlier. 

“Sweet? Really, Angel? Sweet?” He stopped in his tracks with a raised brow, questioning, and an expression that was more than slightly reminiscent of one of the many nights he had sat in with Gabriel. 

“I didn’t- I mean…” I stuttered, tripping over my words until Pete huffed and hopped off the bed, looping his arms around my waist and bodily guiding me towards the ridiculously cozy looking bed. It was not at all difficult as he had a good four inches on me. 

“You said he was sweet, didn’t you? He hates that. It’s his face, I am telling you. People think he is some sort of perpetual schoolboy virgin because he has the face of a goddamn cherub, boy next door you would take home to mom. Sweet as pie Believe me, he isn’t. Well, he is but not in the way most people think” Pete’s question was knowing his grin lascivious as he bounced back up to the middle of the bed, gesturing for me to follow. I did, but far, far slower. The ache in my back and ass was making itself known the more I moved. 

“Thank you for that reminder, Peter. I had almost forgotten my status as a goddamn perpetual altar boy. What a delight to be reminded.” Patrick’s voice was droll as he settled in beside me, stretching his legs out but propping his back against the slatted headboard, glancing down at me. “Are you hurting?” The concern in his voice was touching and Pete paused in the middle of wriggling like a puppy to get comfortable and looked over, his face quickly serious. 

“It’s nothing I can’t handle, I promise. I’ve had worse.” It was very true, I had. 

“Not what I asked. I asked if you were hurting. Avoidance won’t work, I promise. “ The ghost of a smile flickered on Patrick’s lips and I nodded slightly, unable to do anything else. “May I, please?” Again with the gentle request that I couldn’t deny. I didn’t even try, rolling over onto my stomach and tugging the hem of the shirt I wore up under my ribs, exposing what I was sure to be the worst of the bruising. “Hmmm.” Patrick’s hum was soft and I recognized the slight roughness of his fingers as he trailed them carefully just above the bruises on my ass, settling into the hollow of my lower back. “Is there anything we can do to help?” 

“No, I promise. It isn’t nearly as bad as it probably looks. I’ve always bruised easily. I can look at a table wrong and have a bruise the next day. I’m just sore and tired because I haven’t had coffee. I’m alright, Patrick, I promise.” Tossing my hair, I turn my head to look up at Patrick as I rested my cheek on my folded arms. 

“I believe you, Charleigh.” I gave Patrick a smile in return as he carded his fingers through my hair, the gesture going farther than any medication or balm would have to ease any ache. 

“So, can I see something, Sweetheart?” Pete had shifted closer to my other side, his head propped on his hand and pulling my attention. Reversing my motion of just a moment ago, I turn my head to face him. 

“Of course you can. What would you like to see?” Patrick’s hands played idly through my hair as Pete grinned, somehow sweet and utterly filthy at the same time. 

“Well, if I were to, say, apply the right amount of pressure right here, it would leave a mark?” The innocence was feigned, but the intent was not as Pete’s finger trailed slowly along the sensitive skin of my neck just above the collar of my shirt. 

“If it was the right kind of pressure, maybe.” I managed to keep the waver out of my voice but couldn’t hid the small shiver at the touch and my reaction did not go unnoticed. A flash of a grin and Pete dipped his head, his tongue teasing over the same spot his fingers had just discovered and I gasped softly, sucking in a sharp breath, for the second time this morning as teeth scraped easily over my sensitive skin, sucking lightly. 

“Are you still good, Charleigh?” It wasn’t the first time I had been asked the question this morning, and my answer did not change. 

“I’m more than good, just a little- ah!” My words cut off in a low gasp of surprise as Pete nipped at my neck, just barely using his teeth and leaving me shaking just that little bit more. I could feel the laugh against my skin and tilted my head back toward Patrick’s hand when Pete nudged against my jaw with his nose for better access. 

“Come again, Angel?” The words were practically dripping with delight and Patrick’s capable fingers worked through my hair to trace just under the collar of my shirt. 

“I’m good, jus- a bit distracted.” The words were breathier this time and Pete finally pulled back, blowing out a cool puff of air against my wet skin before, once again, trailing his finger down along the mark that no doubt stood out starkly against my pale skin.

“Am I distracting you? I would never do such a thing on purpose.” Pete’s had shifted again, the bed dipping as he stretched out beside me. His words were teasing but there was a seriousness behind his eyes, the same one that I had seen time and again and the contrast was unexpected but welcome. “I am more than happy to stop if you would like.” His lips twitched up in a smile, real and bright and he held my gaze, as Patrick’s fingers played up and down what little length of my smile he could reach with his long fingers. 

“Please don’t stop.” The words were exhaled on a soft sigh, nearly a plea and I waited, still despite the gentle touches and warm honey eyes to see what would happen next.


	15. Part Fifteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> an intimate look at interpersonal relationships and how they can- fuck that shit. it's 3k of smut with a smidgen of fairy floss sweetness at the end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know. I know. I get so goddamn nervous every time. it is crazy. But warranted. This made me so, so nervous. Aside from smut, which is really not in my wheelhouse, there was so much else to address and I really hope that I didn't manage to tip it over into sugar shock. I worry about these things. A lot. Things that help me worry less? Questions, Comments. Kudos. I basically like for them, especially when something is this... well, whatever it is. it makes me so nervous. 
> 
> The next chapter will be back to normal, sort of and Where's Waldo will once again commence. 
> 
> Oh, and hey. If you wanted to do that thing where you leave me a comment either here or on tumblr, I can promise sneak peeks of upcoming moments. There are... a lot. I can also answer questions so there is that. AllKindsOfPlatinumAndPercocet . I am awkward but no awful. 
> 
> And bad mistakes, I've made a few... and I am putting them in my pockets and taking them home. Sorry. They have a shelf in my closet with the pictured of all my exes and half-finished crossword puzzle books. 
> 
> This was started in this incarnation on the occasion of my dear Flames_And_Jade's birthday. It has turned into just something that I hope she enjoys. But you should totally tell her happy unbirthday, she deserves all the days.
> 
> SnitchesAndTalkers. Lady, I can;t even begin to tell you how important you are. Your bravery, strength and willingness to take risks pretty much made me want to take this to the direction it is going. I am always in awe. ALWAYS. I hope you like this. 
> 
> And to you there reading. Thanks for that. If you wanted to leave some thoughts, I would not be mad. But I truly appreciate your time. Enjoy.
> 
>  
> 
> Aural Pleasure for this one is 'Stripped' by Shiny Toy Guns. Throwin it back y'all. but it works.

I was pretty convinced, by this point in time, that Pete’s smiles, when he seemed truly happy, were bright enough to power half the strip. One of those smiles was, at this moment in time, turned on me as my words died off in the chilly air, and my mind went a little hazy even as Patrick’s chuckle drifted to my ears. 

“He can have that effect on people. Can you roll over for me?” I gave a weak nod, untucking my hands from under my head and pushing myself over to lay on my back before scooting the opposite of gracefully up the bed, much to the delight of both the men in the bed with me. 

My hair fell in messy waves as I pushed myself up to sit beside Patrick who was looking at me with a bemused smile. “C’mere?” The words were a little slurred, not sleepy but relaxed as he patted his plaid clad thigh. Pete still lay on his side, watching with a grin. Not even thinking, I nodded and shifted over, settling between Patrick’s legs, as he smiled against my head, his fingers dancing over the back of my hands. “Thank you.” 

“You don’t need to thank me, I promise. “ I spoke as I shifted down just a bit, adjusting the weight off a particularly tender bruise on my ass. 

“What can I say, my mother raised me right.” Patrick’s words were teasing and light, and his breath brushed against my ear as I relaxed back against his chest, my head leaning against his shoulder. We fit nicely. 

“Your mother raised me right.” There was nothing but pure, juvenile humour behind Pete’s words and I felt Patrick shake his head as the bed dipped beside me and Pete settled in next to us, his finger fiddling with the collar of my shirt, his fingers easily popping open the top button. “So, there was something that you didn’t want me to stop, right Sweetheart?” 

The shift from sarcastic to nearly sensual was abrupt and coming from anyone else, it would have not worked, but the sincerity behind Pete’s eyes made doubting him impossible. I nodded again as Patrick’s fingers drifted to trace patterns over the backs of my hands, trailing lazily. 

“I’m very glad to hear that.” In a deliberately slow motion, Pete moved to straddle both my and Patrick’s thighs, staying up on his knees while his fingers teased at the shirt of his I was still wearing. “This looks fantastic on you, you know. I vote you wear it more often.” Even as he spoke, Pete was popping the buttons open and leaning forward to barely brush his stubble rough jaw against against each new inch of bare skin that was revealed. I trembled as the last one pulled open with a pop and he dropped the fabric letting it flutter open to each side of my body and simply watching in what seemed an uncharacteristic, although appreciative silence. 

“Are you still cold? You can keep the shirt on if you want.” Patrick’s voice startled me, although it should not have; Low and rough, he was close enough that I could feel the warmth of his breath on my ear. 

“No, I think.. I’m warm now.” I started over my words as Patrick’s hands drifted up my arms to my shoulders, sliding under the garment and guiding it down and off of my wrists before I could blink, slipping my hands gently free and throwing it aside. Pete, for his part, simply kneeled still, his hand behind his back and the dim light peeking in through the sheers playing off his skin, I could make out the necklace of thorns from here, the ink stark and black, but that was it. There was ink on both arms, all scrolling and intricate looking, and something black and peeking up from the waistband of his Batman pajama pants. I had to wonder, perhaps not for the first time, if the skin felt any different. 

I settled back again resting my shoulders against Patricks chest as one of his free hands swept my hair aside, and the other rested on my hip, unmoving. “Comfy?” The voice was slightly closer this time, lips just barely grazing against my earlobe and I shuddered with the softest of sighs. 

“Very, thank you.” My words may have been directed at Patrick, but Pete held my attention as he leaned in with a smile, just the slightest tease of darkness behind it, and returned his lips to the mark that he had already made on my neck, sucking teasingly for the briefest of moments as his fingers teased along my ribs. 

“I’d forgotten how lovely you were.” Pete spoke into my neck as his lips slipped down, trailing over my collar bone, teeth scraping over the skin just enough to let me know they were there, but never biting. 

“I’m no-” My immediate and automatic denial was cut off by Pete dropping his head, lips wrapping around the already hardened pink of my nipple before sucking slightly, earning a second gasp as I closed my fingers in the fabric of Patrick’s pant leg.

“He isn’t really a fan of arguments when he is this focused, Angel, but if you want to continue you are more than welcome. It would probably be just as fun, if in a different way.” Patrick was matter of fact as he spoke softly, his fingers sliding to trail over my hands, loosening my grip easily and flipping them over to rest palm up on his thigh. 

Pete smiled, his gaze still on my face as he moved back with a teasing tug, providing just the slightest twinge of pain before releasing my nipple. “He’s right, Sweetheart. In fact, there really are significantly better uses of my mouth.” A wink and a kiss to the small freckle in my very limited cleavage before he shifted to lavish the same attention on its twin as Patrick slid a single finger in lovely, delicate patterns over the inside of my wrist. 

“You can’t argue that one, although I can’t imagine why you would want to. He is exceptional in many ways, truly.” Patrick’s tone was nearly conversational, light and breezy, as his free hand moved up to tease the pink bud that Pete had just left, pinching it ever so gently. 

The combination of sensations shouldn’t have hit me as hard as it did, but I found my long neglected hormones seemingly all jumping up to dance as a soft whimper slipped from my lips. Pete’s brows raised at the sound, his eyes still clear and focused up on my face, but he stopped cold, seemingly curious, allowing his tongue to simply slide over the curve of my breast. 

“You are so beautifully responsive.” Patrick’s smile was warm against my ear, his fingers still working their slow tease and I managed a small nod, tripping over my words as Pete’s tongue laved over a particular sensitive spot, 

“It’s been a while, I suppose.” It wasn’t a lie, not really, although it did not exactly tell the entire truth. 

Patrick’s hands stilled and he hummed in my ear, the curiosity already evident. “How long, exactly?” The question was barely a whisper as the finger on my wrist casually started to move again, tracing lazy figure eights back and forth over the frail bones. 

It was hard to think with the two of them so close; not even just the physical presence, although the tongue teasing over my ribs and the movement of the fingers that seemed to be measured so succinctly was more than enough to drive anyone to distraction. No, it was more than that. The warmth of cotton, the gleam in whiskey eyes and the rasp of a golden voice in my ear played into it; the slightly warm lingering scent of cologne and care that lingered behind everything,both for each other and, somehow, for me, was what mattered, almost more than anything. It was the same undercurrent that lingered with everything they had both done downstairs, since day one. It was respect. 

“Depends on what you are asking.”My voice wavered and the hand that was on my wrist slipped away for a moment, the warmth missed immediately, as Patrick’s fingers tapped against the side of Pete’s neck twice, the same gentle move from earlier, and he stopped, pressing a kiss to my ribs before pulling away, his gaze staying steady. 

“I’m asking when the last time anyone touched you like this was; the last time you let yourself be touched. I know what I have seen but…” Patrick’s voice was not hesitant, really, as it trailed off, but more curious, although there was an edge to it that I couldn’t quite define, as there always seemed to be when my past experiences came up. 

Closing my eyes to avoid Pete’s eyes, I thought back, the months passing in a haze as I thought back. “Before G- Mr. Saporta there were a few.. Probably three years now? Maybe four. It’s just. I can’t- and it just… wasn’t a priority. I’m not a virgin, not for near a decade, but my choices were more influenced by how things looked than who people actually were. And sons of rich republicans tend to be exactly like their fathers. There is a lot that just… didn’t. ” My voice broke just slightly as I allowed memories that I had long since banished to the darker recesses of my mind to return, even just for a few moments. 

“I’m sorry, Angel.” Patrick had shifted and his lips were pressed lightly against the crown of my head, his hand moving to give mine a gentle squeeze. “You deserve better, I assure you.” Opening my eyes, I lean my head slightly into Patrick’s touch and return my gaze to Pete who looked equally determined and apologetic. His eyes dart from mine up to Patrick’s, who nods just slightly, as though giving permission, before sending me a sweet, sincere smile. 

“You do, Sweetheart. And I fully intend on showing you exactly that.” A last peek up at Patrick and Pete’s dark head ducked back down, tongue peeking out to swirl into my navel, pulling a giggle and a wriggle of my hips as he kept sliding down, crawling backwards closer towards the foot of the bed. His fingers teased over my hips and along the outside of my thighs, lips chasing not far behind and I didn’t bother to hide the quiet whimpers this time, much to both his and Patrick’s delight. 

“Feels heavenly, doesn’t it, Angel?” Patrick’s hands rested over my hips with just the slightest pressure to hold me still as Pete trailed lips, teeth, and tongue down my left leg, the slight nip at the back of my knee serving to nudge my leg just a little to the side. I nodded, pulling my lip between my lips to bite back a whimper when Pete licked back teasingly over the soft skin at the inside of my thigh, nipping and sucking with a gentle pressure and no doubt raising a bruise to to match the half a dozen others that already littered my body. 

Patrick clicked his tongue and brushed a thumb over my lip, pulling it gently from between my teeth. “No hiding, okay? The walls are well soundproofed and I guarantee that it won’t be anything that the neighbors haven’t heard before. “ There was a chuckle behind the words before teeth grazed at the side of my neck. “Besides, Pete fucking loves to hear, and so do I.” 

Pete lifted his head with a cocky grin, and let his fingers play just at the crease of my thigh, rocking his hips down against the bead with an unstifled moan. “He is right as usual.”

 

“Now, let me hear you, Angel, pretty please? I’ve heard you, you know. From that first night I couldn’t get you out of my mind. You were a pretty fucking picture all red and white and gold. Jesus Christ.” Patrick’s voice had taken on a deeper, richer note and one hand slid from my hip to trail over Pete’s jaw, his dark head bent as he just breathed against the light dusting of curls between my legs. 

The touch, and the words that preceded it broke whatever tender grasp I may have had on my self control and a moan slipped from my lips and my hips twitched up just slightly. The sound seemed to be an assent of sorts, and Pete looked up at me, holding my gaze, one hand on my thigh as he teased his tongue over heated and already over sensitive skin. 

The touch, light as it was, was warm, wet and new, and my mind shorted for the span of a blink as a soft cry echoed in my ears. It was my own voice, huskier than normal from overuse and ache. “There you go, that’s it. Let me hear you again, Charleigh. Let yourself have this.” Patrick’s lips were pressed against my ear, his words a rough whisper as his hands moved back to rest on my hips. 

Pete’s hand, however, was not on my hip. Blunt nails followed the same path that his tongue had traveled, feather light and I couldn’t help trying to rock my hips up towards the warmth that was close enough to feel but just that far from where I wanted it. Pete grinned, turning his head to bite at my inner thigh, the pain causing a surprised shout to slip from my lips , before the mark was soothed by his tongue. 

Patrick shifted his hands so his palms were on my hips, his fingertips gentle points of pressure against my thighs as his voice piped back up against my ear. “That’s it. That was what I was looking for. You deserve this, Angel, I promise you that. And when you need to stop, just say so.” The last sentence was softer, almost tender, and I couldn’t help but smile. Turning my head to try and meet Patrick’s eyes, I opened my mouth in a question that was gone in an instant. 

Pete, in the moment I was distracted by Patrick’s words, had spread my legs just that much further apart before leaning in to taste and logic was lost, replaced by sharp gasps and the futile rocking of my hips to just get MORE as Pete’s tongue licked feather light and soft, almost cautious. 

“He’s so good, isn’t he? Jesus christ his fucking mouth. And he’s the first, isn’t he, Angel? Nobody has ever tasted your pretty little pussy before have they? I promise you he is going to ruin you in the best way.” I closed my eyes against the waves of need that sparked through me as Pete continued, the tender touches, replaced by languid strokes of his talented tongue. 

I gave up trying to form anything resembling a thought and simply focused on feeling, my senses immersed in pleasure. Patrick’s voice never wavered at my ear even as my gasps and whimpers gave way to broken whines as Pete closed his lips over my clit and I arched my back, hands twisted in the blankets at my sides.

“You don’t have to hold back, Angel, tell him what you want.” Patrick punctuated his words with a nip at my earlobe, teeth just barely grazing the diamond studs that sparkled there. “Show him if you need to.” One hand slipped off my hip to work my fingers free from their vice grip on the comforter and rested it on Pete’s head. His hair was short and soft between my fingers and I twisted them in it as I felt Pete smile against me, his teeth slick and cool. “That’s it. You should pull, he fucking loves that, always has. I’m going to let up on your hips a bit and I want you to rock them up, okay? Trust me.” I did, with every fiber of my being and I did as I was asked, pressing my hips up against Pete’s mouth as soon as I could, writhing as his lips sucked on my clit just before the easy slide of two fingers pushed inside me. My cry was sudden and wanton, echoing in my head as I just needed more. “

“Go ahead, Charleigh. Just feel it. His fingers fucking deep inside you, it’s heavenly isn’t? And that mouth..” Patrick’s voice dropped and I could feel a low rumble in his throat as Pete hit a particularly sensitive spot and I writhed, pressing back into the strong warmth of his chest.   
“I would be lying if I said I wasn’t just a little bit jealous, but I we all have our faults. What I wouldn’t give to taste you. I’ve thought about it far more than I should have you know, although I wouldn’t let myself admit it. Pete knew though, and he is having the time of his life between your thighs, his tongue and fingers in that pretty, pretty little cunt.” 

My scream was sudden and sharp as the pressure that had building became almost painful. Every touch was suddenly too much, too hard, too wet, too everything and jerked back from Pete, my eyes slamming closed. There was barely the space of a breath before Patricks arms were wrapped securely around me. Another heartbeat and the bed at our side dipped and there was a gentle hand stroking my hair as I trembled, frustration bubbling up, thick and dark, to replace the ecstasy that still sparked through my veins. 

“That was perfect, Angel. Thank you.”

And then… it was gone. That familiar dark ache of never being quite enough was gone, retreating back into itself with a few soft, tender words from Patrick, whispered just loud enough so that Pete could hear from where he was sat, his head on my shoulder and his hand clasped gentle and large around mine. In that moment, I wasn’t broken; there wasn’t anything that wasn’t enough about me, nothing more was expected and the tears that slipped down my cheeks as I turned to hide my face against the curve of Patrick’s neck were not ones of anger or disappointment. In that moment, that surreal, sweet moment, I was, for the first time, enough.


	16. Chapter Sixteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Come as you are...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi. I'm back. Sorry, I missed a day, things got crazy. 
> 
> So. this chapter... As always, I am taking a bit of artistic license, although more so here than in most other places. There are certain events here that are absolutely bends in protocol for entertainment purposes, but I do try with everything that I have in me to be respectful about the lifestyles that are presented here. 
> 
> All mistakes are mine, I brought them from home. 
> 
> Okay. Warning out of the way. Whew, I feel better. You know what makes me feel even BETTER THAN THAT? comments, kudos and questions. It's true. Knowing how my characters and stories effect the people reading is HUGE for me, truly. If you don't want to comment here, you are all welcome to chat with em over at AllKindsOfPlatinumAndPercocet. I can promise I don't bite. 
> 
> This chapter is a bit shorter than I usually like but between my circumstances and the impending hurricane that is brewing here, there is a good possibility that I am going to be in a bit of a state for a little while and I wanted to get something out first. 
> 
> Where's Waldo is BACK! Let me know who y'all think have popped up this round, I am curious!!
> 
>  
> 
> This work is, as it is every chapter, for Flames_And_Jade because she is amazing. 
> 
> Admiration, thanks and endless amounts of cookies and treats to SnitchesAndTalkers for basically enabling and encouraging every aspect of this story. She is glorious. 
> 
> If you all haven't read either of these two ladies amazing works, please, please, PLEASE bookmark this nonsense and go do so. And then come back here so we can fangirl. I will wait. 
> 
> Thank you to all of you lovely folks who take the time to read my babble, the gift of your time is forever appreciated. I hope you enjoy. 
> 
> Aural Pleasure this chapter is 'Come As You Are' By Nirvana. Because reasons.

There was the slightest hint of a chill in the Las Vegas air and for just a moment as I stepped out of the sleek, black uber that had driven me the laughably short distance from my apartment to Flame, I wished for a jacket. That however, was far from practical at the moment and I gathered the layers of silk and chiffon that very nearly brushed the dirty sidewalk in my hands and made my way silently up the stairs to the gleaming doors of the club. They were still slightly warm as grazed my fingers over them, the varnish retaining the heat from the day. It was more than a bit silly, but there was something grounding about the feel of them beneath my fingers that grounded me, and I had the same little ritual every time I walked through. 

My key card swiped with an electric whir and the locked opened. The air that rushed out was cooler than usual and I slipped inside quickly, shivering at the juxtaposition. The lobby was more crowded than usual, although that was no surprise. Although theme nights were rare, they were much enjoyed and this evening’s, my first, did not prove to be the exception. 

People milled about the usually sparsely populated lobby, the low hum of conversation buzzing in the air. My smile was polite as I made my way towards Lindsey’s desk, dipping my head to avoid eye contact with anyone quite this early. 

The receptionist sat in her usual seat, eyes narrowed towards the doorway to the main floor. Her look dissipated quickly and was replaced by a beaming smile as I finally made it to the desk, ducking around a six foot tall purple fox before I got swiped with it’s tale. “Charleigh, you have absolutely no idea how good it is to see you. And how much I hate you a little right now. You look stunning and ridiculously out of place. But also, kind of perfect and exactly as you should.” Lindsey rested a black gloved hand on her very round belly, leaning back in her chair as she shifted almost uncomfortably. As much as she tended to argue the point, pregnancy agreed with her and to say she was glowing was an understatement. Against her black hair, gloves and dress, the pale white of her skin and bright red lips stood out in almost stark relief and bringing to mind Bettie Page, as was only appropriate. 

I couldn’t hide my laugh, although I kept it low as I shook my head. :Thank you so much, you are far too kind. It is always a pleasure to see you and little one both. I have a few things at home for all of you, I’ll make sure to bring them next time I come in, they weren’t really feasible tonight. As for perfect, you are a flatterer, it is all smoke and mirrors. Although having an amazing designer on my side doesn’t hurt either. “

“You’re goddamn right it doesn’t. Stand back and turn, I am too fucking pregnant to get up.” 

I bit back a laugh and nodded, taking a few steps backwards to appease the receptionist and turning slowly. Ashley had, as usual, out done herself, although she had managed to still pout over some percieved imperfection in her creation. The gown design was simple; layers of silk chiffon that flowed delicately from a high neck to the floor, the bodice sprinkled with lightly twinkling crystals and beads that matched the belt that was cinched tightly around my waist. There were no straps however, and the open back was a cascade of carefully strung beads, each one weighted to counter the material of the dress and stitched to the fabric at my shoulders. A halo of the same beads was easily wound through my hair, catching in the delicate, slightly messy chignon. It was a stunning in every aspect, although there was a small part of me that worried about getting caught on, well anything, and having the whole thing fall to my waist as the delicate balance was rocked. I knew, however, that it was a highly unfounded fear and I pushed it to the side, shaking my head as I stepped back to the desk. 

“I’m going to need you to give me that girl’s name once things have settled down and I’m no longer the size of a whale because Jesus Christ. I think tha-” Lindsey’s words were cut off by the ringing of the phone, and she rolled her eyes and gave me a wave as she turned her attention back to her job. Smiling at the dark haired woman, I turned and carefully made my way back through the milling crowd towards the main club floor. 

As much as Flame could be overwhelming on a regular night, that seemed to increase nearly tenfold this evening. There were nearly double the amount of people that seemed to usually be present on a Saturday,a nd with more people came more to see, in every imaginable sense of the word. 

I had snuck a peek at the clock behind Lindsey’s desk before I had left. I wasn’t due to meet Mr. Stump for another twenty minutes and so I took the time to my advantage. In a rather amusing moment reminiscent of my first night, I slipped into an empty spot against a wall and let my eyes wander, taking in the spectacle that was unfolding. 

There were people in every imaginable state of dress and undress, the theme of ‘Come As You Are’ open for wild interpretation. The evening was, from what I could gather, a yearly celebration for a friend of Master Feldmann, the owner of Flame. The gentleman had died over two decades ago but his memory was one that lived on indelibly through the people whose lives he had managed to touch. 

I had, in an effort to poke a bit of fun at myself and have a bit of play with words, opted for angelic white, although despite Ashley’s skill, there had simply been no way to actually attach a pair of wings to the beading that made up the back of my gown. Others had been far more literal; In addition to the purple fox I had seen in the lobby, a blue cat in pink lingerie was currently settled on a nearby table top with a suit clad gentleman scratching behind their fuzzy ears. Closer to the doubly staffed bar a tall, willowy man was dressed in full early twentieth century equestrian dandy garb, he was almost ridiculously pretty, as was the tall, dark skinned man that trailed along behind him. Clad in little more than a pair of leather hot pants, a bit between his teeth and a bridle, the horse had a riotous head of curls and a map of tattoos that seemed to rival Mr. Wentz’s; the two were an absurdly striking pair. 

There were more public scenes tonight as well, with crowds gathering around apparatus that had been staged not only in their usual place at the far end of the room, but in the four corners as well. Mistress Claret was in one corner with her James, and I caught sight of Gerard’s siren red hair against the darkness of another, no doubt with Mr. Iero nearby; the two were never far from each other when on the main floor and had quite quickly become a pair that I was always delighted to see, even if it was from a distance. From the first moment that I had seen them, cautiously peering through a cracked door, there had been so much mutual respect and care between them that it made my heart ache just a bit. Despite the pain that was inherent in this world that we all currently occupied, there was always a certain gentleness the two shared, a quiet strength that was intensified by the presence of the other. There was an honesty about what they had that anyone, in this life or not, could see. It was the exact opposite of everything that I had grown up seeing. Shaking my head to physically dispel the thoughts that were starting to creep in, I let my gaze wander of the crowd, taking in the bright flashes of and light punctuating the usual cool darkness.

Pushing off from the wall, I had made it maybe three steps before I caught a flash of blue fur out of the corner of my eye before I felt the impact, not hard enough to hurt in the slightest, but it did knock me off balance, and had me tumbling over enough that I had to catch myself on the floor before I toppled down. Even my quick movements couldn’t keep me from careening into the couple nearest to me. The sound of glass shattering reached my ears followed by a curse uttered in a distinctly feminine voice. I caught sight of slender legs in shining patent leather boots that laced up to flirt with them thigh length hem of back tulle, the stark shine offset by the bare legs of the man at her side who had intricate, brightly colored tattoos inked into his skin from ankle up, disappearing into the hems of a pair of loose black shorts. Even in the dark I could make out the shapes, swirling colors of tentacles almost totally obscuring the pale of his skin. I didn’t know his name, nor of the woman standing beside him but as I straightened up, I saw more tattooed skin on him and the acid green and black lace of her corset, the boning pulling her already small waist in so tight it would be easy for someone to wrap their hands around it without issue. 

Finally straightening to my full, if limited height, I was able to meet the woman’s gaze. Although she was petite, her boots added at least five inches on her height and I had to look up to meet her eyes. The woman’s lips pulled down into a deep sneer, ruining what was otherwise a beautiful face as she raised her hand the intention behind the action obvious, even though I had never been on the receiving end. I didn’t cringe, instead choosing to tilt my chin up just a hair more. 

“Elisa, lower your hand. Right now. Leave your pet and follow me to my office.” Mr. Stump’s voice was impossibly even, almost soft, but there was an undercurrent there that was almost chilling. The quiet air of dominance that he always had about him seemingly amplified Despite the cold calm in his voice,there was a spark of something dark behind his blue eyes. The Domme -Elisa it would seem- looked chastised and glanced to her left. The gentleman there had been half hidden in shadow, but stepped forward slightly with an outstretched hand. Ginger hair shone softly on both his head and face, and he looked almost serene, save for expression of obvious displeasure directed at Elisa even as he offered the tattooed submissive a gentle smile and took the end of the leash in his hands. 

“Thank you, Mr. Sheeran.” Mr. Stump’s voice lightened slightly addressing the other ginger dominant and he received a nod and smile in return. 

“Always, you know that. Now if you'll excuse us. Elisa, you can come and find Andy when you are finished. We will be on the floor.” There was very little love lost between the two, obviously, although that seemed to be something that wasn’t exactly new and both of the men turned to vanish into the crowd, Andy following just a few steps behind. 

Elisa, for her part, had not made any effort to move, a fact which did not go unnoticed by Mr. Stump as he leaned in just slightly closer, his voice low. “Elisa. You may not have respect for any submissive that is not yours, which is a very grave error on your part and will be addressed in due time as a whole, but I refuse to allow you to disrespect Charleigh simply because you are a petty bitch. Now, you may either follow us to my office or we can continue this right here. I will guarantee that you that the former is a better option for you.” There was no room left for argument as he closed his mouth and turned his attention to me with the barest hint of a smile as he gestured towards the hall where his office was. “Hello, Charleigh. If you wouldn’t mind?” 

“Good evening, Sir. And of course not.” Mr. Stump didn’t reply, instead resting a hand on the bare skin of my lower back, slipping beneath the layered beads as he gently guided me along the perimeter of the room. I could hear the click of heels behind us as we moved away from the crowd and down the hallway. 

Mr. Wentz stood at the door just opposite Mr. Stump’s, his brow raised in curiosity as we all passed. Unlike Mr. Stump, he did not appear to be in any costume that I could see, although the three piece dove grey suit he wore was a bit lighter than his preferred black, the obviously expensive ensemble accented by a black pocket square. His concessions,and ones I made a note to ask about at a later time, were the carefully applied black liner that ringed his warm honey eyes and the shiny glint of a very obviously well made pocket watch and chain against the vest. 

“If you wouldn’t mind joining us, Mr. Wentz?” It may have been a question, but there was no room for a negative answer and the nod was a quick and efficient affirmative just as Mr. Stump swung open his door, the tree that was gracefully carved into the wood glowing in the light of the room. 

“Charleigh, please feel free to have a seat wherever you would like. Elisa, you can stand.” The coldness in his voice was back, undisguised and I peeked over, catching the slightest hint of surprise on Mr. Wentz’s face as I caught his gaze, although he quickly schooled his features back into a mask of professional indifference as the door behind us closed, blocking out the low din from the club beyond.

For a moment, the only sounds was footfalls on hardwood and I settled on the small loveseat that was kitty corner to Mr. Stump’s desk, tucking my feet beneath me and adjusting my skirts carefully. Mr. Wentz settled in the chair directly opposite Mr. Stump, across from the beautifully made desk and Elisa paused right beside him,her head down. 

Carefully adjusting the red horns that sat on his head, their bright red matching the tie and vest that stood stark against the rest of hss black ensemble, Mr. Stump carefully rested his hands on the desk and leveled his gaze at the woman who was still standing.

“Elisa, do you want to tell me why in the actual FUCK you raised your hand to my submissive?”


	17. Chapter Seventeen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> insert witty comment here...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So. Nothing super witty because of raging storms. Short and sweet for now. 
> 
> Mistakes aplenty, I love comments and kudos, ask me questions on tumblr. 
> 
> This was hard as fuck to write, soothe my frazzled nerves. 
> 
> For Flames_And_Jade because reasons of amazing. 
> 
> Thank you SnitchesAndTalkers for helping me out of the corner.  
> Thank you for reading and fuck a hurricane.
> 
> Aural Satisfaction is 'Everybody Here Wants You' by Patrick Stump. Just go with me on this.

The question hung in the air, menacing and heavy until there was nothing but silence. Elisa didn’t seem to bat an eye as she stood stock still, defiance and pride clear in her stance. Her eyes, however, told another story. There was a flash of, maybe not fear in them as Mr. Stump’s gaze lingers on her, unwavering. She opened her mouth to speak but was cut off almost immediately. 

“Choose your words very carefully, Elisa. My patience with you is exceedingly thin already.” The warning was very clear and this time, the woman did look down. 

“It wasn’t personal, Patrick. It was mo-” There was a conviction in her voice but it was short lived as she was cut off once again.

“No. You do not get to presume familiarity right now Elisa, and you know that. Try again.” The words were delivered in a carefully measured cadence but there was none of the usual kindness that had come to define Mr. Stump’s voice for me. 

“I’m sorry, Mr. Stump. My reaction towards your Pet was-” 

“Try again, Elisa. “ He spoke through clenched teeth this time and I hazarded a glance at Mr. Wentz who was watching the situation with a coolly appraising gaze, one I had become familiar with during my first visits. There was a tick in his jaw, however, the only indication that his presence here was more than just that of a casual observer. 

Elisa, for her part, maintained her composure rather convincingly, resting a gloved hand on her impossibly tiny waist. “I’m sorry, Mr. Stump. My reaction towards your submissive was inappropriate and out of line.” Her voice was soft and clear in the quiet room and her gaze, although it appeared to be directly on Mr. Stump, actually rested on the painting that was just over his shoulder. A print of ‘Starry, Starry Night’ it had been reimagined in what looked to be watercolors by a decidedly childish hand, giving it an almost ethereal quality that was at once fitting and absolutely not at all in the elegant room. There was something scrolled in the bottom corner but the tilted, blocky letters were half obscured by the matte silver frame. It was an old trick and one that that usually worked. I had learned it myself at a very young age, at first for ballet but then, as the years passed and my father’s political career had grown, it had come in handy more often than anyone knew. 

The only problem with it was that the trick only worked when the person you were avoiding was either too unaware or too distracted to notice. Mr. Stump was neither and the sharp slap that rang out as he slammed his hand on the desk stated that fact clearly. 

“I swear to God, Elisa. If you don’t cut the shit right now I will personally carry your ass to Master Feldmann’s office and drop you on his desk to take care of. You are well aware that I can do it, too I am not asking for a fucking explanation. I am not asking you to to bend over backwards here. In fact, what I want is exceedingly simple. Do you think you can give me enough goddamn respect to actually look at me and listen for a moment?” The words were harsh and cold, the anger that resonated in them evident. 

Elisa dropped her gaze, and I watched as she exhaled a long breath before looking up and meeting Mr. Stump’s gaze directly. “I’m sorry, Mr. Stump. My reaction towards your submissive was inappropriate and out of line. Is there anything I can do to make up for it?” For the first time all evening, Elisa sounded something close to sincere. 

“Thank you, Elisa. I highly suggest that you take some time and think about the way you fucking treat people. Insolent, spoiled brat is not a good look on you, neither is vindictive and petty.” There was no kindness to Mr. Stump’s words, but they were not cruel either; simply honest and spoken with the grace that I had come to expect from the gentleman. 

Mr. Wentz, however, had a bit more to say on the topic, and he did not hold back. “What he means, Elisa, is stop being a jealous fucking bitch because you didn’t get the toy you wanted. It has been almost four fucking years. Get the fuck over yourself.” There was venom dripping from every word and I felt my eyes widen at the outburst, surprised by the vehemence in Mr. Wentz’s voice. It would seem, judging by the slight twitch of Mr. Stump’s lips into a brief half-smile that I was not the only one. 

Elisa, her face going a brilliant red , studied the toes of her shining boots and dropped her hands to her sides, not looking up until Mr. Stump spoke again. “While you owe me an apology, I’m far from concerned by that fact; your word means little to me at this point.” If possible, the woman’s lovely face fell even further, shame joining the embarrassment that was clearly written there. “You do, however, owe Miss Gabriel one. And it better be sincere, Elisa. Do not push me on this, do you understand me?” The steel was back in Mr. Stump’s tone, gentle only by a bit at my name, and his blue eyes were just as cold. 

“Yes, Sir.” Gone was the confident, almost condescending tone Elisa had used earlier; in it’s place was something small and deeply sad, especially coming from someone who, in this place anyway, had so much control. She turned her attention to me, noticeably avoiding Mr. Wentz’s intense, angry gaze, and dipped her head in the barest suggestion of a nod. “Miss Gabriel, I’m very sorry for my behavior earlier, I assure you it won’t happen again.” Although they were hesitant, the words seemed sincere, despite the obvious and unexplained hostility that had been in her tone earlier. 

“ That’s all, Elisa. You can go.” Mr. Stump dismissed her abruptly without even a glance and even before she sould open her mouth to speak again, Mr. Wentz was on his feet, crossing to the door and yanking it open. 

“Let me translate again, because your manners and, most likely common sense, are clearly fucking lacking this evening.. Get. The. Fuck, Out. Now. “ Each word was drawn out as though speaking to a child and punctuated with a stony silence between every word and the door held open in an unspoken warning. It was one that Elisa heeded, keeping her head down as she slipped from the room without a single look back, the door closing with a resounding slam behind her.

Shifting my position on the couch, I looked up at Mr. Stump, still sat behind his desk as he shook his head, the shockingly red horns standing out against his ginger hair. The silence hung in the air, heavy and thick for a moment until the soft squeak of wood on polished wood rang out and the man stood, crossing to offer me a hand without a word. I accepted it in kind, standing easily before I felt the familiar warmth of fingers on my back again, guiding me towards the door. He didn’t speak again as we passed by Mr. Wentz, instead guiding the slightly taller man out in the hallway. The door was locked with a click and I followed a few steps behind as the two men before me headed down the hall away from the club towards the elevator I knew to be hidden behind turns and doors. 

It was a silent ride up and I watched the numbers on the number panel tick off brightly as we went up, finally sliding to an easy stop at the sixteenth floor, the gilded doors sliding open into the familiar apartment beyond. 

The shift in the air was nearly palpable, the slight stuffiness and that constant presence of others fading away to a cool, almost familiar comfort. While Mr. Stump turned into the kitchen, I watched as Mr. Wentz did the exact opposite, striding down the hall and across the living room to stand before the wall of windows that looked down over the city, his silhouette dark against the shimmering lights and his hand resting on the glass. I hovered in the doorway watching as Mr. Stump busied himself in two separate cabinets. Three highball glasses as well as a very familiar bottle of Midleton Very Rare Whiskey sat on the island and the crack of ice in an aluminium tray drew my attention. I couldn’t help my smile, although with the modern conveniences of the kitchen, it seemed like an odd choice. Apparently, my question was obvious and Mr. Stump looked up with a smile as he dropped cracked ice into the glasses. 

“Nostalgia. My grandfather used to do the same.” Splashing the amber liquid into two of the three glasses, he raised the bottle to me in a silent question and I shook my head, a few tendrils slipping free from my chignon.

“No thank you, Sir. I’m not a big drinker.” I stayed leaning against the door and watched as he picked up the two filled glasses and headed for the hall, stepping back so Mr. Stump could pass. He paused with a smile, warm and genuine, before pressing a brief kiss to the top of my head. 

“Help yourself to anything you want, Angel. And it’s Patrick, remember?” There words were teasing and sweet, accompanied by a wink before he ducked around me, heading into the living room. I followed along, lingering back as I saw him pause beside Mr. Wentz -Pete- and hold out one of the two glasses. Pete accepted it without a word, turning towards Patrick so I could see his face in the half light. His expression was dark, almost stormy, and his lips were pulled down into a scowl. Patrick was still silent, swirling his own glass in his hand before he headed towards shelves that held the vast array of books and vinyl, fingers slipping carefully over the plastic covers before deciding on what he wanted. Balancing both a practiced efficiency and a care that was evident even from my distance, Patrick situated the album on the record player and there was the slightest burst of familiar static as needle hit vinyl. The opening notes were familiar, but I couldn’t place it for the life of me.

Making my way carefully to the couch, I settled easily into the soft surface, pulling my legs up beneath my dress to rest my chin on my knees. Patrick moved with determined yet careful strides, tossing half of his drink back before depositing his glass on the coffee table and returning to Pete’s side. “Drink.” 

“I don’t really want to drink, Patrick, but thank you.” There was an edge of ice to Pete’s voice and the politeness there was feigned, his eyes back on the city beyond the window. 

“I don’t recall asking what you wanted, Peter. Now drink the goddamn drink.” Patrick’s words were sharp but not harmful as he crossed his arms, waiting expectantly. 

“Really, you want to do this now, Patrick? Have you forgotten we have company?” The sarcasm was slightly obvious in Pete’s tone although there was a frustration beyond the hurt that lay simmering just below the surface. 

“I didn’t forget. Charleigh doesn’t mind. You don’t mind do you, Angel?” Patrick’s voice was gentle again, both of them turning to face me and I shook my head. It was honest, although I didn’t quite know why.

Pete’s laugh was dry as he tossed his drink back, emptying the glass in a single swallow and shaking it obnoxiously, the ice clinking against crystal before it was plucked between his fingers and set aside. “Happy now?”

“Not particularly.” Patrick’s answer was droll and honest as he regarded Pete carefully, his eyes narrowing. “What happened tonight?” The question was softer by half and Pete tensed up. 

“Nothing happened. I don’t really care for Elisa’s antics is all. I never have. That woman is a bitch.” The words were nearly spat, filled with anger that was born of events that had transpired far before tonight. 

“She is. But Pete, she-”

“No, Patrick, don’t ‘but Pete’ me okay? She does this way too- what? What are you doing?” As harsh Pete’s voice may have been, it quickly faded into confusion, mirroring my own as Patrick shrugged out of his jacket and vest, throwing both aside and dropping to his knees without a word, head bowed and arms crossed loosely behind his back. It was a position that I knew well. “Trick.” The last word was a whisper and I watched Pete reach out a hand to gently stroke over Patrick’s cheek, the smaller man leaning just slightly into the touch. “Alright. Upstairs. I’ll be right there.” 

With little more than a nod, Patrick pushed himself up off the floor and moved in measured strides towards the stairs, pausing for the briefest of moments to run a hand over my hair. “If you want to go, you can.” His voice was a whisper and I shook my head, the motion bringing a smile to his face before he turned and headed up the stairs, quickly blending in with the dark. 

My chin still on my knees, I listened to the click of doors opening and closing upstairs. “He let you know you didn’t need to stay, right Sweetheart?” Pete spoke softly, his voice gentler than it had been almost all night and I gave him a soft smile. 

“He did. And I’d like to stay if that’s alright. But if you want me to go, I ca-” I rushed through my words only to have them cut off by a soft chuckle and Pete’s lips pressed against my temple.

“Of course you can stay. You can do anything you would like, Charleigh.” As he spoke, Pete held out a hand to me, the familiar and very much missed twinkle back in his eyes for a moment as I accepted with an exaggerated courtesy, the beads along my back clicking lightly and skirt gathered in my hands as we both headed up the stairs. 

Pete, like Patrick, kept his hand on my lower back, the pressure warm and gentle until we arrived in the bedroom. The light was still off but the curtains had been open and the city lights cast the room in a cool glow. Glancing over at Pete, I caught sight of his smile as he tilted his head towards a chair at the far side of the bed. I didn’t need to be told twice and carefully made my way to sit down, glancing down at Patrick as his fingers barely brushed my ankle when I passed. He was sat on his knees again, head bowed, although the horns were discarded. The bright red of his tie and suspenders stood out against his black shirt and one hand was resting palms up on his thighs. There was the slightest hint of a smile on his lips as his fingers brushed against the satin ribbons that I’d sewn onto an old, never worn pair of white satin slippers. 

The movement was minute but more comforting than an embrace may have been from another person, by far, and I settled carefully onto the chair as Pete shrugged out of his jacket and vest, resting both aside and rolling up his sleeves. The ink on his arms was noticeable even in the dim city lights. 

I watched intently as Pete moved through the room, stopping in front of Patrick and resting to fingers under his chin to tilt his head back, their eyes meeting. “You’re sure?” The question was barely audible even over the soft music that drifted up from down stairs, Jeff Buckley’s haunting voice familiar and soothing. 

“Yes, Sir.” Patrick’s voice was just barely a whisper but there was such absolute trust and love in the two words that had to drop my gaze, the moment far too intimate. 

“Good Boy.” The two words may not have been ones I heard myself, but I knew the meaning imbued in them, the pride that they instilled and I looked up again, transfixed. “On the bed for me.” I couldn’t look away and I didn't want to.


	18. Chapter Eighteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which I am scared to death.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the lack of an update yesterday. I am blaming the hurricane, because, well, hurricane.
> 
> This chapter literally had me shaking at some points because ALL NEW TERRITORY. Comments, kudos and questions will help that. Please?
> 
> This is unbetaed as usual and I shall hoard my mistakes. Mine. 
> 
> This is, as it is always, dedicated to Flames_And_Jade. I love her. Go wish her a happy unbirthday. 
> 
> So, this chapter TERRIFIED ME. Like... poor SnitchesANdTalkers basically had to talk me through it. And I love her endlessly for that. 
> 
> Thank you all for taking the time to read, I can't tell you what it means to me. I hope you all enjoy. 
> 
> Aural Satisfaction this time around is 'Cover Me' by Candlebox.

Tucking my legs back up and resuming my position, I pulled my legs back to my chest and rested my head on my knees. There was an elegance to both men’s movements as they made their way to the bed. Pete’s hands were sure and firm as they pulled at Patrick’s tie, the rasp of silk seeming to echo in the room. It was only a moment before the tie was wrapped with obvious care over Patrick’s eyes and the redheaded man was guided easily to sit on the edge of the bed. Pete was whispering, words that were too quiet for me to head as his deft fingers pushed aside suspenders and worked open the buttons on Patrick’s shirt, the dark material pushed away to reveal an expanse of pale skin. The push on Patrick’s shoulders was both gentle but firm and I could make out a smile on his handsome face as he stretched out on the bed, his arms at his sides. Pete straddled the smaller man’s knees with a grin that was bright in the wavering lights as the clink of metal on metal rang through the air. The slide of leather through belt loops sent a shiver down my spine and, even from my distance, I could see it had the same effect on Patrick. Pete’s laugh was low and bemused as he returned his attention to the task at hand, literally, working open Patrick’s pants. 

“Lift up.” The command was low and followed immediately, Patrick’s hips pushing up off the bed to allow Pete to tug both his pants and boxers down his legs and over his feet to be tossed aside with little care. Pale skin nearly glowed against the dark bedding and Pete leaned back on his heels, his hands just barely grazing along Patrick’s thighs, neither saying a words. I was enthralled, in every sense of the word, and leaned forward almost instinctively as Pete did the same, stretching upwards to brush a kiss across Patrick’s jaw, his hand sliding between the two of them and wrapping around Patrick’s cock. “All this for me, Trick?”

“Mostly.” The response was laced just slightly with humour, although it ended on a breathy gasp as Pete’s wrist twisted teasing along Patrick’s length. 

“Only mostly? Care to explain that one?” There was curiosity in Pete’s voice even as he grinned, shooting me a wink. 

“You know what I me-ah, fuck!” Patrick’s words were cut off as Pete’s free hand slipped between Patrick’s legs teasing at his balls. 

“Explain, Patrick.” There was a quiet demand to the words, as simple as they were, and Patrick’s breath caught in a strangled moan as Pete pulled both hands away from their familiar explorations. 

Patrick’s lips twitched into a full pout as he bucked his hips into the empty air. “Pete, don’t tease.” 

“Patrick, don’t be impertinent and answer the question.” Pete’s tone was firm but the teasing smile on his face offset it easily, and I couldn’t help but return it. 

“Who the fuck else is in here, Peter? Charleigh. Contrary to popular belief, I don’t just get hard from being an assh-Fuck!” The slighty mouthy rant was cut off as Pete leaned forward again and licked along the underside of Patrick’s cock, teasing at the head before sitting back again. 

“You would do well to keep your tone in check, Patrick. I have exactly zero qualms with taking you over my knee and you are well fucking aware of the fact.” Pete tilted his head towards me as he spoke, crooking a finger at me and patting be bed beside him. 

“I’d apologize but I’m not sorry. I’ll stop, Sir.” There was a suggestion of longing in Patrick’s voice and as I crawled to settle beside Pete on the bed, my feet tucked beneath me, he exhaled softly, his body relaxing back into the soft mattress. 

As simple as the action was, in honestly a fully automatic function, I could almost see the effect it had, on him. In fact, I knew it first hand. As opposed to just a breath, it was a focus; a way to clear your mind and focus wholly on the situation at hand. Pete’s attention was solely on Patrick for the moment, his fingers brushing carefully back and forth over his hip. The contrast between their skin was absolutely lovely and my own fingers, pale and tiny in comparison, itched to touch. 

“Patrick, we are going to play a game.” The statement was delivered simply, and the amusement in Pete’s voice was evident not only to myself but to Patrick as well who lifted his head in question, despite the silk that covered his eyes. “BUT only if you behave. Lay back down.” Pete delivered the words gently, but the last one was punctuated with a sharp slap to Patrick’s thigh and he complied, head falling back against the pillow. 

“The beauty of this game, Sweetheart, is that Patrick doesn’t know the rules. I guarantee that any outcome will be in his favor, however.” Pete’s voice was barely a whisper, his breath echoing over my ear as his his free hand trailed over my bare arm. “Did you want to play?” 

I spared a quick glance at Patrick before replying, although I was well aware of what my answer would be before I said it. Pete seemed to be too. “I would, please.” 

The smile I received in return was bright and Pete’s lips brushed against my cheek. “Always so polite. He’s so goddamn pretty, isn’t he? You should look closer. Feel free to touch as well.” There was a certain playfulness behind Pete’s words and I couldn’t help but comply, a smile that you could hear even if you couldn’t see, and I did as I’d been ask, shifting forward and letting my fingers trail over Patrick’s thigh. 

The skin under my fingers was just as pale as my own, sprinkled with pale gold hair that glinted in the low light. I could feel the muscles twitch, but Patrick didn’t move, not really, even as my touch drifted slightly higher. Pete’s hand brushed against the bare skin of my lower back, teasing beneath the layers of beads to urge me forward. He didn’t speak, and neither did I; the only sound in the room was the quiet strains of music drifting through the open door, from downstairs, and I let my eyes flick upward to Patrick’s face for a moment before mimicking Pete’s earlier actions, trailing my tongue in a stripe alongside the length of Patrick’s prick. It was almost hesitant, but I wanted, so much more than I cared to admit, and the gentle rub of fingertips just beneath the sash of my gown was more than enough encouragement. 

I repeated the movement, slower this time, and saw, rather than heard, the catch of breath in Patrick’s throat. Shifting to my knees, I let my fingers wander again, trailing over hips and back down along the coarse trail of hair. Enjoying the simple contrast. Patrick didn’t move, staying stock still, although his hands were clenched in the duvet, the fabric obviously crumpled. 

Pete was right, although I wouldn’t doubt him for even a minute; Patrick was so very pretty. The contrast of his blood dark cock , curved up towards a soft belly was beautifully obscene and my mouth watered as I leaned down again, simply looking, my hands back at my sides. There was a freckle, just the one, on the head of Patrick’s dick and I couldn’t seem to help it, leaning down and teasing the small spot with my tongue, tasting salt and skin. That did provoke a reaction, although just barely; the click of a caught gasp in Patrick’s throat was barely audible, as was the shift of his hips, but it was there and I smiled, a bit proud at having had some part in the response. 

 

Pete laughed softly behind me, leaning in close to run his nose along the gentle skin behind my ear, loosely slipping his fingers between mine and lifting them both to brush over my lips. “Lick.” Nodding my head lightly, I trailed my tongue over my palm before Pete before wrapped our joined hands around Patrick’s prick, slippery with spit, and set a gentle rhythm. “See? So pretty. And beautifully responsive, much like you.” I could feel the smile against my ear and shifted backwards, almost instinctively against Pete’s chest. He was warm and hard beneath layers of soft cotton and, the contrast against my chilled skin sent shivers down my spine. 

Patrick whimpered, bucking his hips just slightly up into our combined touch, his bottom lip pulled tightly between his teeth as he fought, very obviously, to keep as still as he could. It would seem he did know the rules of the game. Pete untwisted our fingers, pulling a quiet moan of frustration from Patrick, and pressed a kiss against my fingertips. “Can you go in the drawer in the nightstand for me and grab the blue bottle, Please?” Although Pete was speaking to me, his attention was focused solely on Patrick as his fingers drifted further down, just out of clear view. 

The strangled gasp from Patrick brought me out of my slight reverie and I twisted, stretching out on the bed to lean over and fish through the nightstand drawer. It was almost meticulously organized, right down to small boxes and bottles. I had to pull myself over the edge of the bed to look in the drawer, as there were at least four bottles resting in a row. I could hear Pete rustling behind me but didn’t turn until I had the requested bottle in my hand, and I stopped cold as I turned to hand it over. Pete’s back was turned to me as he shrugged off his shirt, revealing more of the dark, intricate ink that had been so captivating. Squirming ungracefully back to his side, I reached out with my free hand, trailing my fingers carefully along the script between Pete’s shoulders. The light was too low to see it clearly, but I scooted forward, gathering up my skirt in my free hand and rose up on my knees. Leaning in almost hesitantly, I trailed the tip of my tongue along the designs I could see.Pete’s skin was warm, almost hot under my tongue; smooth and soft. I could taste salt and the faint chemical tang of cologne beneath that and it was difficult to pull back, my cheeks bright as I handed over the bottle that was now clenched in my fingers. 

 

Pete’s fingers were gentle under my chin, tipping my head up to press a sweet kiss against my lips. “You are full of surprises, Sweetheart.” There was a hint of admiration in his tone, and he dropped a kiss on the tip of my nose before gesturing towards the head of the bed. “Go sit by him?” I nodded and crawled up to lean against the headboard. Patrick turned his head, tie still tightly in place, and pressed his cheek against my thigh, nuzzling against the layers of filmy fabric with a soft sigh. My hand shook slightly as I carded my fingers through his hair, soft and just barely damp with sweat, no doubt from holding back. 

A pair of quiet clicks broke the silence and then Patrick gave a sharp gasp, the sound dissolving into a moan. Pete’s fingers were back between his legs, and I could see the concentration on his face, as his wrist moved. My attention flipped between Pete’s hand, his face and Patrick, who was panting steadily against my thigh, his moans getting higher and more desperate with every movement of Pete’s fingers as he pushed his hips up to meet the touch. Patrick’s hand had shifted up from it’s place clenched around the blanket to grip my calf and I could already feel the light bruises forming beneath his fingertips.

“Please, Pete, I’m just- please.” As foreign as the sound of Patrick begging was, the words still had me squirming slightly where I sat, Shifting my attention to Pete, I couldn’t help but stare as he slipped out of his pants, kicking them aside before crawling back beneath Patrick’s spread legs. 

“I know, Trick, I know.” Pete’s voice was low and soothing, the tone matching the one I had heard from Patrick on my first night back as I broke down in his arms. “Sweetheart, can you hand me that pillow behind you?” I nodded, scurrying to twist and hand over the requested item, and watching and Pete slipped it easily under Patrick’s already raised hips. 

Patrick’s hand was still gripping my calf and I couldn’t help my small smile as I brushed a lock of damp hair off of his forehead. “Thank you, Angel.” The words were a near whisper trailing off into a squeak as Pete scooted forward, leaning down to barely brush his lips over Patrick’s.

“Up?” The word was little more than a breath and Patrick nodded, shifting easily as Pete’s hands moved, guiding pale legs to rest against his shoulders, the swirling lines of ink standing out in stark relief against the pale, pale skin. Patrick was small and flexiable, moving easily with the hands that easily manipulated his limbs. I watched Pete rock forward just a bit and Patrick nearly writhed below him, tossing his head back. 

“Stop. teasing.” The command was firm and demanding but slightly undercut by the sheer longing that colored his tone; it was not something I would be opposed to hearing again. 

Pete laughed, deep and knowing before pushing his hips forward almost painfully slowly, his fingers tight on Patrick’s hips to still the smaller man who was nearly bucking up at the slow drag. “Jesus fuck, Trick. I always forget. Always.” The words were a whisper, one that was rewarded with a throaty groan as Pete’s hips finally stilled, flush against Patrick’s ass before he moved back almost agonizingly slowly. ““Sweetheart, can you get that tie for me?” The words were strained as though Pete was holding back and judging by the look on his face, he was, although it was far beyond me to even hazard a guess. 

Nodding, I brush my fingers along Patrick’s cheek as I reached for the red silk, and he whimpered against my palm, warm lips sliding down to press to the inside of my wrist as I carefully worked the knot loose. As soon as the material fell, I met Patrick’s eyes, slightly sleepy, for the briefest of moments before they flew open wider, the same moment Pete’s hips thrust forward. 

“Fuck!” The exclamation echoed in the cool air, Patrick’s voice pitched just a bit higher than usual as Pete leaned forward, repositioning and brushing his nose over Patrick’s with a grin. 

“Good Boy.” His words were whispered, far too intimate for comfort, and I had to look away, turning to glance out at the city lights through the gauze curtains of the window as the room grew warmer with each rock of the mattress and gasped moan, time passing in whimpers and quiet moans that slowly gave way to outright cries from Patrick. 

. “Sweetheart?” Pete’s voice was cracked and broken and I startled as I returned my attention to his face, his eyes locked on mine. “Would you- a hand?” Even as fractured as the sentence was, I nodded mutely, understanding the request, dropping my gaze to Patrick’s face as my hand dipped down over his stomach, his skin sweat slick, and wrapped around his cock, sliding in time with the increasingly erratic thrusts of Pete’s hips.

I couldn’t look away at this point even if I wanted to, captivated by the openness that played across Patrick’s face; the vulnerability that balanced perfectly against the quiet strength that always seemed to emanate from him. He was absolutely captivating. Pete’s breath caught, his hips stuttering forward and he dropped his head to just barely graze against Patrick’s ear, bracing his arms on either side of his head. 

The words were filthy and beautiful, whispered declarations of love gasped between strings of curses and assurances, whispered thanks and assurances that culimanated in a silent scream from Patrick, his mouth dropping open and head falling back as he came, sticky and hot over my hand and both his and Pete’s stomach. 

Pete was not far behind, as his hips slammed forward one, two, three more times before he cried out, shaking and nearly collapsing onto Patrick, barely catching himself as he pulled in a sharp breath and met Patrick’s lips in a sweet kiss. 

There was nothing but the gasp of breath and gentle murmured promises, far too quiet for my ears, Jeff Buckley long having gone quiet downstairs, until Pete finally moved shifting back and pulling out slowly, the movement, careful as it was, still eliciting a whimper from Patrick. He frowned slightly, resting a hand on a still shaking thigh as I wiped my hand, surreptitiously as I could, in the folds of my gown, a movement that did not go unnoticed by Pete. 

“Sorry, Sweetheart. I’m going to go and run a bath would you mind just-” His words trailed off with a soft laugh as Patrick rolled onto his side and rested his head on my lap, tugging my hand back to his hair.

“M’not even fucking apologizing for being cuddly. And you better use the good bubbles, asshole.” Patrick’s words were half muffled, his voice wrecked and cracking, but there was a smile on his face as he relaxed again, tilting his head back into my touch as Pete wandered to the antique clawfoot tub that was nestled in the far corner of the room, twisting the taps and pouring a generous amount of something delicious smelling into the water. Strong hands tugged open the sheers that covered the window, allowing an unobstructed view of the Vegas lights below as Patrick’s breathing evened out, one hand sliding beneath the hem of my dress to rest gently on my ankle, twisting his head to meet my gaze with a soft, sleepy smile. He didn’t say anything but he didn’t need to, and I simply nodded, my fingers still stroking through wet hair as sweetly scented steam started to drift through the room.


	19. Chapter Nineteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Revelations and midnight pancakes because... there should always be pancakes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, y'all. Maybe I can get a proper note in here, finally. Harvey seems to have decided to cut us a little slack, at least just for a few minutes now. 
> 
> I'm really, really enjoying the direction that this story is going, even when it surprises me, and it absolutely does. Like today. It surprised me when this chapter formed. Please don't hate me, okay? Okay. Things that help me alleviate update related worries: comments, kudos and questions. Here or over on AllKindsOfPlatinumAndPercocet on tumblr. Seriously, come talk to me. I will babble and reward you with praise and absolute shock. 
> 
> This hasn't been betad, as usual because I do what I want. 
> 
> The easter eggs are out in FULL FORCE. Don't judge me, pretty please. Or do, and come talk to me about it. 
> 
> As always, this is dedicated to Flames_And_Jade in celebration of her birth because she is beyond amazing. 
> 
> Endless thanks and all the coffee mugs and praise to SnitchesAndTalkers for her endless handholding, ego boosting and kind words. 
> 
> If you haven't read either of these ladies work, you should absolutely go and do that right now and then come back and fangirl over them with me. Seriously. My story will keep, it is shelf stable. 
> 
> Thank you all, as always, for taking the time out of your busy day to read this little (not really that little) story of mine. I know there is so many other things you could be doing and I am eternally grateful for the opportunity to share this world of mine with you. 
> 
> Aural Satisfaction this chapter is 'Golden' by Fall Out Boy. Turn it up and simply enjoy the beauty of the song.

Minutes passed in comfortable, relaxed silence, the only sound being the water rushing into the tub, the quick spatter of water against tile and glass and then Pete’s quiet footfalls as he meandered out from the bathroom. He was still wet, droplets of water dripping down from his hair and trailing down his chest, and his arms were laden with fluffy white towels that he set in one of the two chairs beside the tub before making his way back towards the bed. 

“M’lady” the words were delivered with a shit-eating grin that only widened when his hand was batted away as Patrick stood with a glare that would have had any normal man on their knees. 

“You’re a pretentious little shit, Peter.” Patrick’s voice was light but there was a twinge of pain in his voice and he was moving with a bit less than his usual easy grace. He leaned into Pete’s side almost imperceptibly as they crossed the room and Patrick settled into the tub with a content sigh and a thankful smile. 

“You love me and you know it.” The words were tossed off over his shoulder as Pete plopped down on the bed beside me, earning a laugh from Patrick even as he leaned back and closed his eyes. “Don’t let the gruff exterior fool you, it is all a show for work. He is a teddy bear.” The words had their desired effect when Patrick didn’t even open his eyes, simply raising a suds covered middle finger in our direction. “See? Teddy bear. Now, up and at em, sweetheart, you’re next.” 

“Next for what?” I blinked at him for a moment, Patrick’s laughter drifting over from the tub, when Pete reached over and easily lifted me up, cradling me against his chest easily, the motion bringing the slightest sense of deja vu, albeit with more white fabric on my part, and decidedly less pants on his. The bracelet that had never seemed to leave his left wrist was cool against my skin and I shivered, relaxing slightly into the familiar embrace. 

Patrick, cracking open one eye as his head rested against the back of the tub, gave a low, throaty chuckle as Pete plopped on the floor at my feet and ducked under my skirt with a frankly ridiculous wiggle of his brows before the floaty chiffon settled over his head. I couldn’t help my squeak of surprise and Patrick piped up from the tub, amused. “You’ll get used to it. Pete, please play nice.” 

“I am playing nice!” Pete’s voice was muffled beneath the layers of my skirt as his fingers fiddled with the ribbons tied at my ankle, muttering under his breath as he finally worked one tiny knot and then the other loose and slipping the delicate shoes off before popping back up, his hair a mess. “Those are pretty as hell, but goddamn what a pain in the ass. Turn.” 

I hid a laugh and did as I was instructed catching Patrick’s gaze as I faced him and earning a wink. 

“What the hell, Sweetheart? This is the most complicated dress I have ever seen. It’s gorgeous, don’t get me wrong but I just want you out of it right now. And not only because it had jizz on it, yes I saw that.” Pete sounded something bordering on exasperated, although that faded quickly as his fingers slipped over and under the beads that were draped over my back, skimming over my skin to rest on the sash at my waist, giving the knot an easy pull. 

Patrick scoffed from the bathtub, his smile evident, and I bit back a laugh as I carefully stepped forward just out of Pete’s reach. Holding up single finger in pause. Twisting my arms behind me, I lowered the half zip of the skirt before carefully gathering the beads at my shoulders in my hands, slipping one down the length towards the middle to keep them as compact as possible before lifting them over my head and lowering them before I let go, the entire garment falling into a pool at my feet that I carefully stepped out of.

Pete smiled with an impish glee and snagged it as soon as he could, draping it over his arm with an noticeable gentleness. “Much better. There are somethings that I was not born to understand and I am okay with that.” With the dress still hanging from his arm, Pete headed into what must have been the closet, his voice drifting out behind him. “Now believe me, I appreciate well made garments as much as anyone. Which, you will have to get me this woman’s number.” 

I laughed as Pete popped back out of the closet with my dress now on a hanger that was easily deposited on a door hook. “There. Now. Into the tub with you, Sweetheart.” Once again, for what felt like the millionth time, I blinked in confusion, and Pete just gestured to the bath. “You. In. It’s hot and the bubbles are killer, I promise. Besides, Patrick gets cranky if he doesn’t get enough post-coital cuddles.” 

Patrick rolled his eyes and shifted in the water, giving me a warm smile. “As much as I would hate to say that he is wrong, in this case he isn’t. Sex makes me snuggly, especially bottoming.” The words were delivered in a casual tone, but there was the slightest hint of something deeper in them that I wasn’t willing to question, at least not now. 

I knew something of Pete and Patrick’s relationship, beyond the working dynamic and what I had seen here, but beyond that I had more questions than answers, although that didn’t bother me in the slightest. The conversation that night had been varied and easy, and there were more than a few questions I had hoped to revisit, simply out of curiosity. 

I couldn’t find it in me to even begin to argue and so instead, I stepped frst one foot and then the other over the edge of the tub before settling into the pleasantly hot, bubble filled water and settling between Patrick’s legs, sighing as his arm wrapped around my waist and his lips pressed against my head. 

“Good Girl You two have fun and fucking relax, it has been a fuck of a night. I’m going to go cook. “ There wasn’t room to even think of an argument before he was gone, dashing out the door and down the stairs. 

I could feel Patrick’s laugh against my back and his smile against my temple. “Sorry, I forget that Pete can be a bit much sometimes.” The words were reinforced by a clatter from downstairs and then the always dulcet sounds of Dramarama echoing through the stereo. 

“He’s a good man, and so are you.” My reply was simple and honest, earning me a slight nuzzle against my neck from Patrick. 

“Thank you, Charleigh, that means a lot. I think, especially when we meet someone, especially if it is related to work, it can be kind of difficult for people to separate us and our jobs, especially if they came into our lives the way you did.” Patrick’s words were slightly wistful, and his fingers trailed absently over my ribs as he spoke. “It can be a lot for some people to deal with, I guess. What we do has always come with some preconceived notions, that is part of the job, but I just wanted you to know that it is pretty rare for anyone to be willing to see past that. Thank you for that, Angel.” 

My cheeks warmed and it had little to do with the heat of the water as I let my gaze travel out the window and over the shimmering lights beyond. “You don’t need to thank me, really. I’m just… there is more to people that what they may seem at first glance, believe me.” 

“I may not need to thank you, but I still will.” I could hear the laugh in Patrick’s voice as he tugged teasingly at a piece of hair that had escaped my chignon. “Manners are important. Besides, I’m pretty sure I owe you an apology. This was not at all what I had hoped for this evening. Honestly, it is almost exactly the opposite of what I had in mind.” 

“It’s alright. I would be lying if I said I didn’t enjoy myself. Well, for the majority of the evening anyway.” I wrinkled my nose and heard Patrick click his tongue behind me, shifting slightly to pull me closer and slipping us both lower into the water. 

“Yeah, I’m sorry about Elisa, she is… it’s a long story. But I think it goes without saying that Pete and she do not exactly see eye to eye.” There was a clatter from downstairs before Pete’s voice floated up. 

“You are too fucking nice, Rick! That woman is a fucking problem, and not the goddamn good kind either.” 

Patrick sighed, his breath tickling the back of my neck, and twisted to yell towards the door. “Thank you for the reminder, Peter!” Settling back down, Patrick pressed a gentle kiss against my neck as though pushing the prior conversation away. “You looked beautiful tonight, I’m sorry I didn’t say something earlier. Things got away from me.” Familiar fingers trailed over the delicate bead that made up the halo that was still woven through my hair. “You make a perfect angel.” 

Tilting my head back into the gentle touch, I laughed softly at the choice of words. “ Perfection is something I stopped trying to attain a while ago, although if you ask my mother, it is the ultimate goal. I don’t really mind having a slightly crooked halo. And I enjoyed your costume as well. You wear horns well.” My smile was bright as I spoke and Patrick laughed against the side of my neck. 

“Well, you know I was only half in costume, Angel, depending on who you ask.” There was a note of sadness in the words and I was about to question it when Pete popped back in, scooping up towels and offering them up. 

“Let’s go, bathing beauties. Pancakes are ready, fruit is cut and whipped cream is made. I will absolutely eat it all if you don’t hurry your little asses up. “ Pete seemed to be laughing as he spoke, an almost endearing trait of his, as he held out a towel in one hand and reached out the other. I stood carefully, pausing for a moment as the water and foam slipped back down into the tub before accepting first the towel and then the offer hand once I was wrapped securely.

“Thank you, Pete.” I stood dripping onto the carpet as Pete repeated the process with Patrick, brushing a lingering bit of foam off his shoulder. 

“No thanks needed, Sweetheart, just make sure you are hungry. My pancakes are the stuff of legend.” A small stack of clothes were pressed against my chest before Pete vanished out the door again, singing along unabashedly off key as he returned to his pancakes. Patrick gave a resigned shrug and a smile before drying off and tugging on the soft looking pajama pants and obviously well loved shirt that Pete had left out for him. 

“Bowie?” My question was more of a statement as I glanced up from drying my legs before shrugging into the oversized, navy button down that had been left and working the buttons closed. 

“Lifelong fan. I think I have had this shirt since I was twelve? Pete tried to steal it more times than I can even begin to count. I’m not normally a violent man but he earned that.” Patrick slipped his glasses back on after his voice trailed off and ran a hand through his messy hair with a sheepish smile before resting it on my lower back. “We should get down there before he actually does start eating, I guarantee you he will be insufferable all night if he has to eat cold pancakes.” 

Fortunately, the pancakes were still hot by the time we came down. Pete was, not incorrect in his assessment of his pancake making skills; short of my grandmother’s. They were the best I had ever had, complete with piles of ripe strawberries and billowing, perfectly whipped cream. 

We had all eaten to excess and had immediately sprawled across the couch in a pile of soft pajamas, warm skin and cozy blankets, some mindless movie playing on the television as we talked about anything and everything from music to the best places in town to get pizza. I was unaware there was a way to actually be wrong about that opinion, but I was quickly and vehemently corrected and sworn to a lunch at Giordano's next week. I was never one to complain about good food and I nodded happily, my head on Patrick’s lap and my feet on Pete’s. The blanket tossed that had been tucked gently over my bare legs, the print a familiar swirl of blue, white and yellow stars, was obviously old and well loved, the pattern pushing a question back into my mind that had vanished with the activity of the night.

“Be clearly aware of the stars and infinity on high. Then life seems almost enchanted after all.” The quote was one that had been casually tossed out by one of my undergraduate professors, but stuck with me through the years, springing back up whenever the iconic painting came to mind. Patricks hand wavered slightly as his fingers combed gently through my hair, the pins and halo long since pulled out to lay on the coffee table. The change in his expression was noticeable, even from my awkward angle and I backpedaled quickly, even as Pete’s hand rested softly on my bare ankle. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you. I assumed between the blanket and the painting in your office that you were a fan of the piece. “

Patrick smiled slightly, a small improvement even though it didn’t reach his eyes, and smoothed a hand over my hair. “No apologies, Angel, I promise. And I am a fan, I always have been. That is one of my favorite quotes, actually. And the painting…” His smile, what I could see of it, was bittersweet, and Pete stretched over to rest a hand over the back of Patrick’s neck. 

“The painting was a gift, actually.” The words were quiet and they held a gravity that was nearly palpable, and I dropped my head slightly, my gaze returning absently to the television and not wanting to push the subject any further as I tried the implications of the statement; not a single one ending happily and all involving coffins that were far, far too small. 

“It’s not- fuck.” The words were quiet and held a resigned, although gentle frustration as they were breathed out on a sigh. Patricks fingers smoothed over my cheek to rest beneath my chin, tilting my head so our eyes met. He looked so sad for a moment that my heart ached for him and it was only Pete’s hand steady on my ankle that kept me from scrambling upright to pull him into an embrace. 

“I promise it isn’t what you think, Charleigh. No tragic tales of sick nieces or nephews, and all of my siblings are older than me, don’t worry about that.” 

I let out a breath I hadn’t even been aware I was holding. “Thank you, Patrick. I didn’t mean to push.” I wasn’t expecting anything else as he closed his eyes for a moment before casting a quick glance at Pete, his hand resting again, very gently on my cheek.

“You weren’t pushing, Angel, I promise. It’s been a long time since anyone has asked is all.” 

Pete slid closer as Patrick spoke, resting his dark head against Patrick’s shoulder, staying quiet for the time being, his hand shifting to rest on my blanket covered knee.   
Patrick leaned his head against Pete’s drawing a quiet strength from the man beside him before letting out a quiet sigh, his eyes staying closed and his voice quiet. 

“Bronte, the little girl who painted that, is my daughter.”


	20. Chapter Twenty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Phone calls and even more questions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so... I had a plan for this chapter. And then I git distracted and it turned into something else entirely. Oops? 
> 
> I am not as nervous about this one as I possibly should be, but.... well, you could still comment or kudos if you wanted, I wouldn't even be mad. I would probably happy crutch dance. It is quite the sight. If you don't want to say anything here, I am over on tumblr at AllKindsOfPlatinumAndPercocet and I like to talk, a whole lot. I am SUPER awkward though, so. BUT there are usually spoilers and teasers, just ask! I also love answering questions about this world, feel free to ask away. 
> 
> This is, as always, not betad. I am taking my mistakes and my unicorn and going home. 
> 
> For my dear Flames_And_Jade because she is light and amazing.
> 
> Thanks and adoration to SnitchesAndTalkers for endless comments and support. And also encouraging my tea addiction. I am not even mad. 
> 
> Thank you to everyone who takes the time out of their day to read my silly little story, that means more to me than I could ever say.

Despite the rather shocking developments, conversation around Patrick and his revelation had effectively ceased very quickly. The discomfort on his face, the pain that was obviously still very much a living, breathing part of him, quickly took precedence. Pete had, without a word, kissed Patrick’s head and crossed quickly to the shelves surrounding the television, slipping something into the Blu-Ray before settling back where he was. As the opening credits began to roll and we were transported to a Galaxy far, far away, Patrick’s face softened and by halfway through the movie we were all sleep. 

The next few days passed easily, blur of studio time and hours wiled away with planning meetings for the upcoming season. The call from Patrick was a lovely distraction amidst the chaos, albeit an unexpected one. There was an edge to his tone that let me know immediately that this was not a social call and I made my way outside, the cool breeze cooling my heated cheeks as I listened to the confident voice on the other end of the line, detailing my tasks for the next few days, before I was to be allowed back into the club. 

Explaining that blush to my coworkers was not easy, but I had simply mumbled something about the heat gone back to flipping through a costume catalogue, making a note of a possible leotard for Hayley. 

The clock was tormenting me, it had been since I had hung up the phone at my meeting. But now as the vibrant hues of sunset faded into the inky blackness of night and the garish lights of Las Vegas started flickering on, I was increasingly aware of the hour and my gaze kept drifting to my phone. 

My teeth were closed tightly around a pen cap, notebooks and fabric swatches sprawled across my coffee table, although I had gotten very little done. The phone call with Mr. Stump had been both intriguing and frightening at the same time. Yes, it was a direction from a man that I trusted, implicitly, with my whole self but that didn’t stop the small nagging voice of doubt that I always so carefully tried to ignore. The music that filled the nearly frigid air was not as calming as it should have been. My nerves were already on edge, and when the song switched over and heavily pitched up bass replacing the piano of the song that had just ended, I huffed out loud, throwing my pen and flipping my notebook onto the carpet with a muffled thump. Yes, I was acting like a petulant child, and I knew it, but there was really nothing whatsoever stopping me. 

Hopping up, I ignored both the book and pen, slipping my phone into my pocket and heading back towards my bedroom. Mr. Stump’s rules for this task were very, very clear and I think that is what had me so on edge. I had always been a fairly no nonsense masturbator, when I had even bothered, and I had absolutely zero clue how to go about dressing it up for any sort of public consumption. 

Crossing directly to the windows, I admire the view of the Las Vegas skyline for a moment, always as bright as day no matter how late the hour, before pulling the curtains shut. The air was soft with the scent of lemons and magnolias, thanks to a new candle from my mother, a belated birthday present to make up for the roses that had so quickly blanketed my courtyard, and the flames cast a soft golden glow over the room. 

“Just fucking do it.” The words were an unnecessary pep talk as I slipped off my cozy pajama pants and stretched out on my bed. My comforter was soft and cool against my bare skin and I shivered just slightly as I brushed my tangled hair from my face before setting my glasses on the nightstand and, with a slightly shaking hand, scrolled through my contacts, pausing for just a second before hitting send and watching ‘Sir’ flash across the screen as I placed the call. I hadn’t even been realizing I was holding my breath until I heard a click on the other end of the line. “Good evening, Sir.”

“Good evening, Angel. I was beginning to think you weren’t going to call and I have to say I am very glad that you did.” There was a hint of pride in his voice and I could almost see his smile. “I am not usually one to assume, I tend to leave that to Mr. Wentz, but are you ready to begin your task?” 

I swallowed thickly at the greeting even as a small smile pulled my lips up at the endearment, as always. Flipping my phone to speaker, I set it beside me on the pillow as I ran my now empty fingers through my hair, gasping as they caught in a tangle. Or at least that was what I told myself caused the sound. “Yes, Sir, I am. I’m not really… I know what I’m doing but I’m just not quite sure if… I don’t want to do anything wrong and disappoint you, Sir. “

The words came out in a rush, all breathy and husky, and I felt my cheeks warm almost immediately. It was silly, truly, for me to be this nervous, especially with him. The same man that I had absolutely no hesitation with in person; the one who had literally seen me naked the first time we met and the man who, just a few nights ago, revealed more of himself to me than I had in the entire time we had known each other. The phone somehow changed things, although I wasn’t sure why. Granted all of our meetings had been on his ground and now, he was here, in a sense, with me in the dark, cold comfort of my own home. I think the fact that I didn’t have a problem with that was what was actually making me so nervous. 

“You forget, Angel, that what faith you may, for whatever reason, lack in yourself, I have in you. I know you know what you are doing. And you couldn’t disappoint me even if you tried, Charleigh, please don’t forget that.” There was a note of tenderness at the last words and the echo of a long unheard voice whispered through my mind, quickly pushed aside. 

Although he couldn’t see me through the phone, I nodded, pulling my bottom lip between my teeth tightly. The encouragement not only bolstered my confidence but the tone in his voice sent a small thrill down my spine. My throat was dry and I took a quick sip from the bottle that rested on my nightstand, relishing the cold as it slipped down my throat. “Yes, Sir.” My fingers were damp with condensation from the bottle as I lay back down, squirming to tug my tank top over my head and throwing it absently in the dark. The air was delightfully cold on my heated skin and I closed my eyes, concentrating on the soft sounds coming from the phone that lay beside my head. Quiet music, the tinkling of glass and an occasional breath. It was strange having him so close and yet not here at all. Taking a deep breath, I slowly slide my hands down my abdomen, my fingertips leaving a trail of cool water in their wake for just a fraction of a moment before it evaporated. I stopped cold for a moment, my head spinning, concentration fully on the sounds from the phone, before continuing, a soft gasp falling from my lips as my hand slipped between my legs. 

“That’s a Good Girl.” 

I could hear him, the simple praise through the line and my smile grew just a bit. He sounded… pleased, maybe? I wasn’t entirely sure at the moment, not yet anyway, but that wasn’t my focus now, not right yet. 

“Thank you, Sir.” The words were immediate and honest, my voice cracking just slightly as my fingers dipped between my legs, sliding easily through my already slick folds. That was a change. It wasn’t a surprise, really, not after the last few weeks but it was different, in a very good way. I shifted my hips slightly, another soft moan falling from my lips as my nipples pebbled in the cold, my mind reeling with images from my last night at Mr, Stump and Mr. Wentz’s apartment. 

“Tell me what you are doing, Angel, where you are.” There was a demand behind the words and I heard the clink of glass against wood, a highball glass, maybe, the quiet tinkling of ice against crystal barely audible

I was taken aback just slightly by the words, although I don’t quite know why. It was reasonable enough question, considering the circumstances. It took me a moment of tripping and fumbling over my own words to be able to answer. I could almost see him in my mind, the memory of our time together playing over and over on a constant loop, I could remember how carefully he looked at me, especially on those first few visits with Mr. Saporta, how closely he had watched, his eyes taking in every detail and I spoke without thinking.

“I’m on my bed, Sir. The blinds are closed and I have a candle lit. I-I’m- touching myself.” My voice sounded impossibly small, even to me as I spoke, and I chastised myself for the embarrassment that was coursing through me, although it was not the only reason for the heat that warmed my goddamn cheeks; the moisture that clung to my fingers was evidence enough of that. I was aroused, more than a little, and I had no doubt that it had more than just a little to do with the man on the other end of the phone. My hips bucked just a bit and I gasped loudly as my fingertips grazed across my sensitive clit, not hiding my small whimper. 

 

The same clink of ice sounded through the phone, followed by a soft hum and the soft squeak of wood on wood. He must be in his office. “And how do you feel?” 

The question sounded distant although the phone hadn’t moved, and I stopped my almost timid explorations to consider what was asked of me. There were so many answers possible, I just didn’t know which ones to give. I knew, some part of me anyway, that I was overthinking this, all of it. I was safe, more so than I had ever been in my life, and I wanted to do this, to push myself; to please him. When I spoke, my voice was raspy, the words punctuated by small gasps as my fingers teased and slipped over my sensitive flesh. “I feel good, Sir. Soft, warm… wet.” The last word was one that I rarely used and my voice cracked, eyes squeezing closed as I slowly slipped one finger lower, sliding into myself with ease.  
.  
“Keep going, Charleigh, I want to know how it feels. I’ve heard second hand, but that doesn’t compare. Talk to me.” Mr. Stump’s voice sounded almost strained on the other end of the line and I chalked it up, in a brief moment of rationalization, to the speaker before following directions yet again.

That praise again, the two simple words had my head spinning and I didn’t bother to hide my moans as I continued. A second finger easily joined the first, sliding deep inside, my palm pressing tightly against my clit and pulling a quiet cry from my throat. It was ridiculous, in some way, how very open I felt. Modesty had never been a big issue with me, nudity and sexuality both having their own places within my life, but intimacy was an entirely different story, and this was, in every sense of the word, intimate. I swallowed hard, ignoring the slight sheen of sweat that had spring up over my skin and ran my tongue over dry lips. “It’s… so good, Sir. I can’t… it’s difficult to focus.” It was honest, every word, and I fisted the soft blanket in my free hand as I fought to control my breathing, my voice huskier than usual as I waited for any sound from the other end of the line.

“Don’t worry about talking then, Angel. Just focus and feel. You know what you are doing, I promise. Don’t hold yourself back.”

I nodded again, although it couldn’t be seen and let my lip slide free from it’s place between my teeth as a soft gasp escaped my lips as my fingers moved slowly, almost teasingly and my hips bucked up to meet my hand, desperate for contact. The air kicked into high and I welcomed the rush of cold that was dumped from the vent above my head, delighting in the sensation of the chill against my ridiculously overheated skin. 

The sounds coming from me were brazen, for me anyway, but I didn’t mind in the slightest. The simple direction given in a low, almost throaty voice was more than enough to quell any lingering fears that may have swirled about in my mind. Don’t hold yourself back. Four words, so calmly stated it was almost laughable. My fingers moved just a bit faster, and I could feel my breath catch between the soft, unintelligible cries that I refused to hide as I listened intently for any noise from the phone beside my head.

“Good Girl. Keep going for me. I wish I could see you. You are a vision when you let yourself go, Angel.” 

I could feel my pulse race as I wriggled on the bed, my limbs trembling with each stroke of my fingers. The voice on the other end of the line was as controlled as ever and I had a moment of doubt in myself as I writhed, my breath constantly hitching in a series of gasps as I felt a familiar warmth start in my abdomen, followed every so quickly by more doubt, twisting thick and heavy. 

The rules were simple and straightforward. No matter how much I wanted to do otherwise, I needed to stop, even though nothing would come of continuing. I knew my body well enough and I still had some time before the familiar tears of frustration and disappointment spring up. I danced precariously on the knife’s edge of pleasure for as long as I could, knowing what came next, crying out wantonly from my dry throat. The delicate comforter, usually soft and plush, felt almost rough against my overheated, sensitive skin and it took all that was in me to speak, my voice a near moan. “Sir, I need- I have to stop.” 

“You can stop, Angel. It’s okay.” 

A small whine slips from my lips as I drop my hands to my sides, my body falling back against the bed. I could feel the blood pumping through me, my clit nearly throbbing as I fight to catch my breath. Closing my eyes, I listen intently to the phone that lies on my pillow, the sounds muffled on the other end of the line. My throat is dry from panting and it takes everything in me to reach for the water on the nightstand and take a sip, cool and fresh on my parched throat. I set it back down with a soft click and pick up the phone, switching it off of speaker and holding it to my ear. “I stopped, Sir. I didn’t- I stopped.”

“You did very well, Charleigh, you have absolutely nothing to be sorry or feel bad about, do you understand me? I can hear it in your voice, Angel.” 

“ Yes, Sir.” My voice wavers slightly as I settle into bed, shifting to crawl under the blankets and pull them up to my chin. I could still feel the slightest twinges of need, of want, aching with denied release as I press my thighs together and brush my hair from under my head carefully weighing my words. “ For tomorrow, did you want me to call at a specific time, Sir?” I can hear the muffled sounds on the other end of the line, Mr. Stump’s voice closer and slightly raspy. I can’t help the slight derailment of my train of thought as I wonder, not for the first time, what he is doing.

“No, Charleigh, you can call whenever you would like. I’m taking the day off from work tomorrow so I will be at your disposal. You sound sleepy.”

I could hear the familiar click of metal on metal and bite my lip, memories rushing back to nights spent in an increasingly familiar apartment as I roll over onto my stomach, phone still pressed against my ear. His voice echoed slightly in my ear and I squinted through blurry eyes as if that would help me focus, to no avail. I listened intently down the line, weighing my next words carefully.. “Can I use toys, Sir? I don’t have them but I think, maybe they could help?”

“You can use whatever you would like, but just make sure you stop yourself, especially with any assistance you may have. If things progress past what we have established before our next meeting, I will happily put you over my knee.”

The answer is not at all surprising and I nod as my mind reels with the possibilities that the affirmative response spurs on and I fight the nerves that popped after my uncharacteristic show of bravery. “ Yes, Sir, we are very clear on that. When will that be, Sir? The next time we see each other, that is?” As I speak, I twist my hair between my fingers, listening intently for any sound from the other end of the line, and greeted with nothing but silence and the soft rasp of breath. 

‘Five days from now, Angel, in the evening. Make sure you bring any toys you may use. I'm looking forward to it, possibly more than I should.” 

Swallowing thickly, I can hear the squeak of metal and the soft fall of water. My sleepy mind took a moment to process a shower and I bit my lip to hide my small whimper at the images that it conjured, not only of Mr. Stump, but Mr, Wentz as well. “Yes, Sir. I’ll need to go shopping cause I don’t have anything.” My voice was heavy with sleep, my mind starting to fog with the delightful ether of those moments just before slipping into slumber.

“There is plenty of time for that, Angel, just sleep now, alright? Don't worry your head, just go to sleep.”

The words were a familiar echo of ones I’d heard that first night in the apartment, the same song and the same gentleness in the voice, and I hummed softly, nodding my head as my eyes drift closed at the quiet words, grasping my comforter in my hands and tucking it under my chin.

“Tomorrow, Sir. Sleep well and dream sweet.” The words were slurred even as I tried to fight for consciousness, to no avail, waiting with what little I had in me for a reply from the other end of the line even as my hand went slack on the phone and I drifted off.


	21. Chapter Twenty-one

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brunch and BOBs. Hello.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's early and I cant sleep, so my usual snark and questionable wit does not apply. 
> 
> Waking back up to comments and kudos would be the best EVER. 
> 
> Mistakes happen, because I am a flawed human. Also because I forget to wear glasses. 
> 
> For Flames_And_Jade because she is magical. 
> 
> Eternal thanks to SnitchesAndTalkers for the encouragement and hours of chats. She knows more about these folks than I do, I think. 
> 
>  
> 
> Thank y'all for taking the time to read, I really hope you are enjoying. 
> 
> Aural Pleasure this chapter is 'Cherry Bomb' by The Runaways . Because I say so. 
> 
> I know I missed it last chapter, but go ahead and listen to 'Disarm' by The Civil Wars, just for kicks.

It is said that smell is the sense most strongly linked to memory and I had zero reason to ever question this, if anything, it had been confirmed in triplicate just today. I’d never been to the Red Rock Country Club but the moment I walked through the doors I was transported back to Chestnut Hill, the club outside of Boston that my parents had been members of for as long as I could remember. Granted the scenery was different, as it was wont to be, but the basics; shining floors, understated wallpaper, lush golf courses and quiet, white shirted staff were the same no matter what the state. And the smell. It was nothing ostentatious, of course, it couldn’t be, but it was there. The soft scent of fresh flowers; usually roses and the sickly sweet scent of calla lilies , a hint of lemon and the barest suggestion of leather and cigar smoke to balance out the the femininity. It still turned my stomach but I put on a smile and dealt with it, as always. 

Father’s day brunch with Senator and DA Gabriel was always a chore, although that was one of the most first world problems in history. It was an event, of course, because why do something without spectacle, and had my presence not been insisted upon in person I would have ducked out claiming work. However, that was not the case and I found myself unable refuse when my parents shown up at nine in the morning. I was still in bed which was unusual, but sleep had been fitful and I had woken up gasping for breath with broken visions of dreams still running through my head. I’d long since given up hope of getting back to sleep and had instead made a strong cup of tea and grabbed the novel that had been languishing away, untouched on my nightstand. 

The knock was unexpected and I had scurried back into my hastily discarded pajamas from the previous night, color flying to my cheeks as the phone call rushed back to me. My parents were the last people I had anticipated seeing. They hated Vegas and had not traveled out here once since I’d moved so the sight was more than a bit unnerving, especially in my sleep rumpled state, and it had taken everything in me not to just shut the door and go back to bed. With them standing in my living room, I couldn’t really claim I was busy and, once they were both set up with coffee and the paper, I ducked away to dress, the edges of a plan forming in my mind as I grabbed my phone. 

Over the years I had perfected the art of being ready to be photographed at any time and I knew my parents discriminating tastes. My mother called it classic. I called it Twee. It was pretty and conservative; nipped waist, full skirt, spaghetti straps and a pretty floral pattern. My cardigan and purse matched the spring green and my shoes picked up the pinks and corals. Dainty pearls, a low bun, winged black eyeliner and elegant red lipstick with just a spritz of perfume easily completed my transformation from sleepy bookworm to politician’s child, much to my mother's delight. 

That had been nearly six hours ago. Granted the food was good, delicious even, and the mimosas seemed to magically refill themselves but I was under absolutely no delusions about what exactly this was and brunch with the family was far from it. Nearly 160 people filled The Arroyo Room, ranging from local politicians and casino owners to police chiefs and CEOs, although I spotted a few clerical collars in the crowd as well. 

I was gracious as the situation required, answering questions succinctly and beaming extra wattage into my smile as the day wore on but eventually my cheeks ached from the effort. Whispering an excuse me to my mother, knowing that she couldn’t say no, I gathered my purse and headed out the main doors, wandering around the sprawling facility to look for a restroom away from the crowd. I needed some space. My feet were silent on the gleaming hardwood and I nearly sighed in relief as I spotted a pair of white doors at the end of a short hallway. Slipping my phone from my bag with nearly shaking hands, I slip into one of the small rooms and take a quick picture of the open lock, sending it to Mr. Stump without a message. I took a wavering breath and leaned against the far wall, blanching as I caught sight of my reflection in the mirror, smoothing my skirt before snapping a picture of that as well and sending it off. 

Closing my eyes, I take a long breath before scrolling through my contacts and placing the call. The wait was almost painful as I waited to hear the familiar, accented voice on the other end of the line.   
“Good afternoon, Angel. It looks like you are having quite the adventurous morning.” There was a smile lingering behind the words, and I matched it with my own. 

“Hello, Sir. You could say that, I suppose.”

The chuckle on the other end of the line sent a chill through me and I juggled my phone from shoulder to shoulder. 

“I’m sure the lovely folks at The Red Rock would agree. Speaking of, shall we? I’ve no doubt you have some intensely important speeches to get back to, to say nothing of their Mimosas.” While I hadn't expected to be teased, the words went farther than I thought possible towards calming my unknowingly frazzled nerves. 

Twenty minutes later I disconnected the call, flushed and panting, the pale pink lace between my legs useless as I smooth my skirt with freshly washed hands and adjust my hair, tweaking a few pins just so to hide the slight twists from being pressed against the wall. Heading back down the sprawling hallways, I carefully buttoned my cardigan to hide any possible giveaways that my traitorous body may feel the need to share. 

The look on my mother’s face as I slipped back in quickly changed from stony to nearly concerned as she took in my slightly disheveled appearance. She leaned close to me, her voice low, and I was comforted for a moment by the familiar scent of Chanel No. 5 and face powder. 

“You look flushed Charleigh James, are you alright?” The concern was touching and I nearly felt bad for creating a rather elaborate though convincing escape story. 

“ I’m a bit under the weather, Mother.” My voice was quiet and downright meek as I gestured towards the plate of one of the other woman at our table as she picked daintily at a beautiful fruit salad salad of fresh berries, melon and a lovely syrup. “There was rosewater in the fruit salad.” It wasn’t an outright lie, there WAS rosewater in the salad syrup, I just didn’t eat any, having gathered the fruit on my plate from a nearby tray. My mother, thanks to her lifelong hatred of strawberries, hadn’t hazarded a chance either and she patted me on the hand with an almost alarmed look and brushed a kiss on my cheek. “Your hands are freezing, take my gloves and then take the car and head home to rest, Leigh. I’ll deal with your father.” There wasn’t time to refuse before the delicate white gloves, complete with button at the wrists, were shoved into my hands. My mother may be a state district attorney but some facets of her southern belle upbringing still rang true. I should have felt worse about my ruse but I knew that part of the reason it would work was a bit of residual guilt over my birthday and the guilt was suddenly gone. I gave what I hoped was a meek smile and tucked the gloves in my purse before slipping out the door as silently as possible and heading for the car. 

The ride back into town was brief and I took the time to bask in a bit of luxury, stretching out across the secluded seat, thankful for the darkened partition as I sipped from the cold, sweet white wine my mother had chilling. Tipping the driver more than necessary, I stepped back out onto the sidewalk instantly baking in the hot overhead sun. I slid my sunglasses on and my cardigan off as I headed down the strip in the direction of Flame. I could feel eyes on me, but that was nothing new in this town. It drew people from all walks of life, from gamblers to people watchers, some more colorful than others, and I knew it was probably just the novelty of my outfit. From the sleek bun to the piping on my sundress and the organza trim peeking out from under the hem of my dress and coordinated cat’s eye sunglasses I was a walking Betty Draper Barbie rendered in pleasing preppy shades. 

I kept my head down, the same stubborn lock of hair falling in front of my eyes as I headed towards Flame. I had come to anticipate the familiar thrill that shot down my spine as I cast a glance at the shining lacquer, my mind jolting back to today’s phone call with Mr. Stump; a chill ran up my spine despite the triple digit temperatures. I passed them, not without some longing, and continued down towards the small collection of shops I was looking for. The signs for most were bright, the window displays garish, although the one I was looking for seemed a bit more subtle than I anticipated. Then again, having never been in a store of this ilk before, I only knew what I had seen through depictions in movies and television and not shockingly, they didn't tend to be exceedingly reliable. 

‘The Toy Box’ was written in elegant script across the door and, once I had finally gathered up the courage to enter, a tiny musical bell announced my presence. Stepping to the side as not to block any other customers, I slipped my sunglasses on my head and blinked as my eyes adjusted to the light as well as the vast amount of items lining not only the walls but racks set up to cover nearly all of the space in the shop. 

I fisted my cardigan in my hands as I perused the narrow aisles, my skin no doubt the same color as my dress. There was a lot to take in. A dainty clothing rack caught my eye and I let my fingers trail over the hangers as I looked at garments. Some were elegant and flowy, others were garish and glittery; both a perfect depiction of Vegas in clothing form. My hand stopped as I saw a peek of white in between the fuchsia and cyan and manage to untangle it from the rack. The pieces were beautiful and simple: delicate white lace and pale grey silk. I checked the size and smiled as I draped it over my arm and returned to perusing the shelves. 

There were devices in seemingly every size, color and species, each one a bit more shocking than the last. I paused in front of a display of corset dresses, one of with had a pale pink tutu attached, a pair of dental floss thongs attached to the front. Not at all accurate. Moving on, I drop my gaze as I passed a sizeable collection of porn, both electronic and paper. I could hear a small snicker and my head jerked up as I caught the eyes of two girls stocking the shelves, their gazes lingering on me, hushed voices dripping with amusement. I was out of place, very much so but the snickers only strengthened my resolve and I brushed past the two girls, without a glance, although I did cough slightly at the cloud of sickly sweet perfume that I could nearly taste, as I headed toward another display. Between the neon silicone vibrators, bottles of garishly labeled lube and blow up dolls and a collection of tentacles rendered in neon colors, I caught sight of a small, almost hidden display. 

Comparatively speaking, the devices were almost demure which was fitting. Sleek, small and white, packaged in a set of three resting in a navy box, they seemed like a fairly perfect first choice. I balanced the box in my hands, hooking the hanger over my wrist as I headed towards the register and rested my purchases on the glass display case that doubled as a counter, giving a small smile to the amused looking sales girl. I was thankful that she didn’t try and strike up a conversation, instead bagging up my purchases with a bemused grin and sliding them into a discreet pink paper bag.

“That’ll be $237.50, Barbie.” I didn’t miss the nickname, nor did I mind it. There was no malice behind her words, it was simply an endearment of sorts and I smiled as I handed her my credit card. I could feel her gaze as the machine ran the card and glanced up.   
“I’m sorry, do I know you?” I occasionally worried about being recognized out here but it was nothing like Boston, a fact for which I was thankful, but this was the last place I needed to be identified. I could nearly see my mother swoon at the mere thought of anyone from her family being associated with a sex shop and my fingers nervously twitched with the cardigan twisted in my hands as I awaited her response. 

“I don’t think so you just look familiar and I can’t place my finger on it.” 

I shrug and give the bewildered girl a half smile as I scrawl my name on the receipt and pocket my card again. “You know I get that all the time, I must have one of those faces.” Sliding my bag over my wrist, I glance around again quickly, blushing slightly both under the continued scrutiny of the shop girl's steely gaze and the memories that rushed back as my eyes landed on a display of vibrantly colored ropes, my thoughts drifting as I replaced my sunglasses. 

“I’ve got it!” I jumped at the exclamation and turned to face the register again, eyes wide behind my sunglasses as I silently prayed to whatever deity there was above that she wasn’t a republican politics junkie under her pink hair, band shirt and stacks of black bracelets that had recognized the name on my credit card. “The Betty Draper Barbie. My mom is a HUGE Mad Men fan and you look JUST like the doll with different hair. I got it for her for Christmas. She was so excited.” 

Considering my ensemble I was not at all surprised, it was a comparison I had heard before but it was the first time in such a unique surrounding. The juxtaposition of the girl’s eagerness over something as seemingly wholesome as a Barbie of her mothers and being surrounded by more sex toys than I even knew existed brought a quiet laugh bubbling from my lips. “ Thank you, I think. I have heard that before, actually, it’s not the worst thing to be compared to.” The eagerness was nearly radiating off this girl, and she was practically bouncing, the almost juvenile glee softening the hard lines from her face and taking years off her appearance. In all likelihood, she was probably younger than me by nearly a decade chronologically I had no doubt that she had lived far more. 

“Hey, I know this is a really weird question, and you could say no but can I take your picture? Not in here, of course, but for my mom. she would be fucking tickled. There is a jewelry store right next door that would be perfect... “ The question caught me off guard and I startled for a minute as I stared at her. She looked so eager that I spoke before I could think. 

“Sure.” It surprised me and I was nearly on the verge of retracting my consent when the girl squealed in absolute delight and jumped up to hop her petite body over the counter, yelling over her shoulder. “Yo Sarah, watch the register, I’m taking a fifteen.” Without another word, the petite pink haired girl grasped my hand and very nearly dragged me from the store and around the corner. She hadn’t been exaggerating about the jewelry store. The large picture window was filled with elegant and no doubt expensive baubles; everything from diamonds to pearls delicately displayed and glinting in the bright afternoon sun. 

“Alright, Betty Barbie, gimmie your bag and put one hand on the glass.” Her directions were easy and I was nearly in my assigned position when I remembered my mother’s forced gift, handing over my purchases and cardigan before pulling the gloves from my purse and fastening the tiny buttons around my wrists. 

“Holy shit, you have gloves? Thats kind of insane.” I shrugged at her and gave a tiny smile as I placed my hand on the window, my gaze drifting over the sparkling display behind my sunglasses. 

“Perfect. Lemme see resting bitchface, maybe without the glasses?” I could see her reflection as she spoke, her orange covered phone snapping away from all angles. I complied with delight, stashing my glasses in my bag and frowning. Resting bitchface was not something I had ever managed to perfect but I gave it my best shot, keeping my gaze fixed on the window as my impromptu photo session continued. It was charming, in an odd sort of way, and when she finally finished, she gave me a warm, unsolicited hug. 

“My mom is gonna FREAK, thanks, Betty Barbie.” An eager grin and she was off, back around the corner to her to work. My laugh was soft as I slipped my sunglasses back on, and turned on my heel to head back towards my building. The sun was starting to slip towards the horizon and I had another phone call to plan. The smile that pulled at my face was small although the shiver of anticipation that ran down my spine was anything but as I headed back into the throng of people wandering the sidewalk and headed home.


	22. Chapter Twenty-Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Let's go to the movies....

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It is one of those days... multiple updates, FTW.
> 
> I know, I'm sorry too. I just have a lot to say, much of it makes me flaily. Help me out with that if you want, comments and kudos go far to soothe flustered nerves. 
> 
> I know there are mistakes, It's been a crazy day. Sorry.
> 
> As always, for Flames_And_Jade for being amazing. I am so glad you exist. 
> 
> Thank you a thousand times over to SnitchesAndTalkers for listening to my babble. And sometimes giving me the best worst ideas. 
> 
> And for you folks reading, thank you for your time and interest, I can't tell you how much it means to me. 
> 
> Aural Satisfaction (Because I am RIDICULOUS) 'My Songs Know What You Did In The Dark' by Fall Out Boy. Because of course.

“One for the two-thirty show, please.” My voice was quiet and it shook just slightly as I slide a bill to the vest clad teenager behind the glass. She seemed more than slightly disaffected as she slid both my ticket and change back without so much as a word, her gaze glued to the phone in her hand. I give her a small, unacknowledged smile and pulled open the door to head into the theatre. My purse felt heavy slung over my shoulder as I entered the sprawling lobby, handing yet another bored looking kid my ticket. 

“Third theatre on the left. Enjoy the show, Lady. It looks like you will have a private screening.” The phrase thrilled me more than it should have and I headed towards the concession stand, the scent of hot popcorn making my mouth water as it hung in the air. The theatre was nearly empty save for me and the black and red clad employees, all of whom seemed less than enthusiastic to be spending such a beautiful day at work. 

“Small popcorn and a diet coke, please.” My order was simple and standard, the same thing that I had gotten at the movies for as long as I could remember; reliable and consistent. Tugging my bottom lip between my teeth, I can feel my smile grow as I catch sight of a familiar blue, white and brown box. “And a box of sno-caps please.” A small indulgence but well worth it for the memories attached. Quickly paying, I gather up my treats and a sheaf of napkins before heading towards the theatre. The air was freezing, almost unbearably so, and I was thankful for the sweater draped over my shoulders. 

The ticket taker had been right and the theatre was absolutely empty despite the previews already rolling. Pausing in the middle of the lighted stairs, I drop my head and head up to the very last row, selecting a seat in the dead center of the row. I could see the screen perfectly although I doubted very much that I would be paying attention to the movie. Setting my purse and popcorn beside me, I drape a white cardigan over my lap and adjust my skirt, resting my feet on the back of the chair in front of me. It takes just a moment of digging in my purse and my fingers brush across smooth, cool plastic. My cheeks flush even in the dark as I retrieve both the item and my phone, settling back to get comfortable and pulling my skirt up a bit higher as I place my call. I shivered as the memory of yesterday’s call, one made during sundown as I had enjoyed a particularly luxurious bath and hit send, waiting on tenterhooks for the call to connect, my pulse fluttering as I hear the greeting on the other end of the line.

“Good afternoon, Angel. ” There was a smile in Mr. Stump’s voice, evident even over the line, and I couldn’t help but return it in kind, despite the darkness of the theatre. 

“Hello, Charleigh!” I wasn’t at all expecting the second voice, slightly muffled by distance, but it was not unwelcome. 

I wrinkled my nose at the ridiculous preview on the screen, something loud and violent, exactly the opposite of my usual viewing choice. Taking a long sip of my soda to wet my parched throat, I stumble over my words before I can respond, my body already responding thanks in no small part to our prior conversations. “Good afternoon, Sir, Good afternoon, Mr. Wentz. I do hope that I haven’t caught you at a bad time.” My voice was a bit louder than usual to be heard over the explosions on the large screen and I had a brief moment of doubt about what I was doing. That dissipated quickly as I rested my free hand on my thigh beneath my skirt, the slender device cool between my fingers. I was anxious, very much so, and absolutely vibrating, as it were, with nervous energy.

“Of course not, Charleigh. I’m just enjoying some lunch with Mr. Wentz at my desk. I’m quite happy to have him leave if you would like.” I could hear a vague protest on the other end of the line, but nothing clear enough to make out fully. 

“I don’t mind if he stays, Sir.” The words were automatic and honest earning a laugh from down the line. 

“Thank you, Angel, I guarantee you have just made Mr. Wentz’s day.” There was a loud ‘Yes’ and I shook my head, pleased at the obvious joy. “Now tell me, where are you this afternoon?”

The preview had switched to some cheesy romance or another as we had spoken, some inane Nicholas Sparks inspired drivel no doubt. Narrowing my eyes at the screen, I turn my attention back to the voice on the other end of the phone. “I’m at the movies, Sir.” There was a slight waver in my voice as my fingers skimmed just slightly over the bare skin of my thigh and I twirled the tiny toy between my fingers, shivering with anticipation and nerves. “I’m… I’m in the back row, Sir, if that’s alright. There isn’t anyone else here yet and I’m about halfway through the previews.”

“It sounds it Angel and that is a fine place to sit. Tell me, and please excuse the cliche, but what are you wearing?” I could hear Mr. Wentz’s raucous laughter as soon as Sir was done talking and couldn’t help my own laugh, however muffled at the growled response. “I’m a visual person, shut up or get out Wentz.” Mr. Wentz stopped laughing. 

 

Holding the phone between my ear and shoulder, I adjust my skirt before glancing down at my feet, resting on the back of the seat in front of me. “A navy sundress, Sir, with a white sash and white flats. And a white cardigan for warmth, although it is over my lap at the moment. *I squirmed in my seat, my fingers grazing against the delicate skin of my inner thigh and I suck in a sharp breath, biting back a whimper.

“You do look good in blue, Angel.” Mr. Stump’s response was throaty and low, reminiscent of observed moments in kitchens and tangled in dark sheets.

The tone was more than a bit encouraging and I smiled alone in the dark, squirming in my seat. My fingers ghosted over the soft skin on my inner thighs trailing up higher by what seemed like centimeters and I sucked in a small gasp. I was ridiculously sensitive at the moment and my entire being was on edge, a beautiful, frustrating ache. Retrieving the slim toy from its resting spot on my thigh, I give pause for a moment, wondering if this is the correct setting for my first exploration. I pull my lip between my teeth for a moment as I weigh my words, finally deciding to err on the side of caution. “I went shopping after I left the country club, Sir.” I wasn’t whispering, not even close, but I was quiet enough that there was no way if someone did come in they would be able to hear my conversation over the movie. I waited patiently for a reply, the tips of my fingers resting lightly atop the device, hidden away below the full folds of my skirt.

“I can only imagine that must have been quite the sight, Angel, I’m sorry I wasn’t there to witness it, much as I am right now. You’ll have to bring your purchases with you on your next visit.” There was a hint of longing in his voice, the words accompanied by a low chuckle and I sat up just a little bit straighter. “Please continue, I’m quite interested in your new acquisitions. Let yourself enjoy it, Charleigh.” 

I smiled slightly in pride at the words, and shiver at the sound; It was so near the phone that I could almost hear his breath on my neck.* Thank you, Sir. I will and I’ll try to.”I let my eyes stray to the screen for a moment, distracted by the flickering pictures and loud explosions as I took a calming breath. Holding the phone to my ear, I slip the cap off the small toy and turn the head. I could nearly hear the vibrations and I froze as I rested the pulsing item gently against my thigh, close but not quite touching where I needed it. The quiet words of praise echoed in my head and I lifted my hand, settling the vibrating toy just barely on my clit and sucking in a sharp breath against the phone at the intense sensation.

“Good Girl. Just relax, alright? You’re doing so well.” 

Sighing softly at the words, I let my head drop back and shift my hand just slightly again, concentrating the strong vibrations a bit more directly on my clit and I gasped again, a quiet moan falling from my lips against the phone as I squirmed in my seat, my body wholly unaccustomed to the intense pulsations. I swallowed again and again, my hips rocking forward just slightly beneath the layers of soft cotton and I was, not for the first time today, thankful for both the dark and the extra layer that the sweater provided. “I can’t- it’s so much, Sir.” It was a breathy, nearly begged plea as I pressed my feet against the chair in front of me, pointing my toes to move just enough to hit a slightly different area with each push.*

“You don’t need to use the toy if it is too much, Charleigh. Only you know what works for you. I trust you, Angel.” There was a tenderness in the words and I closed my eyes, soft eyes and a gentle smile flashing through my mind. 

“Yes, Sir.” My voice was broken and raspy, the two simple words punctuated by throaty moans that I tried to hold back as I squirmed and writhed in the small seat, pushing my foot off the chair in front of me in a steady rhythm. The sensations were intense, nearly too strong but I didn’t stop, I wouldn’t, not until I had permission. “I’m- it’s… holy shit.” The curse was unfamiliar on my tongue, one of the many that I rarely used, but my inhibitions were low, as was becoming seemingly par for the course for me of late. I let the words fall away and just focused on feelings, the sensations that coursed through me with every pulse, my moans becoming louder into the phone. I was close but not yet, not quite there.

“Good girl. You make sure you stop when you need to or I will not hesitate to take it out on your pretty ass when you come back. And I assure you I will enjoy every minute of it, as will you” 

“Yes, Sir.” My voice cracked and my chest heaved as I continued, wriggling in my seat and knocking my sweater to the floor as my gasps got higher in pitch and my chest heaved again and again, a light sheen of perspiration springing to my skin. I was close, so close. Just another minute and I knew that familiar disappointment would well up past the pleasure. “Fuck.” The curse was louder than I had anticipated echoing in the theatre as my hand fell to my side and my feet slapped down against the sticky floor, legs trembling, the small vibrator buzzing in my hand. I struggled to catch my breath, nearly aching with need. “I stopped, Sir.”

There was a low catch to Mr. Stump’s voice on the other end of the line and the low pull of a chair sliding on hardwood and I fought to keep possible scenarios from swirling around in my mind. “Good Girl. Angel. And tell me, how did that little toy make you feel?”

 

It took me a moment to find my voice, my breath heaving as I try and calm myself enough to speak coherently, the sound of Mr. Stump’s strangled moan echoing in my ears over the deafening sound effects on the screen. My body was tingling and I was on edge, aching with desire and need, the edge of frustration creeping in. Opening my eyes, I blink at the brightness of the explosion on the screen in front of me and twist the top of the small toy to turn it off and put the cap back on before dropping it in my purse. Taking a long sip of my soda, the cold, fizzy beverage went a long way to soothe my parched throat. “It was intense, Sir. I don’t quite think I knew what to expect. It was good though, different. I didn’t mean to be so loud.”

“Intense has it’s place, Angel, and believe me when I say that you have not even begun to skim the surface of possibilities for that particular brand of enjoyment. I have so-Goddamnit, Pete. Stop.” The calm and collected statement was cut off by a stifled moan and the frustrated curse along with a muffled thump. “I’m sorry, Angel, it would seem Mr. Wentz is feeling a bit feisty today.” 

I squeak softly as I shift in my chair, my thighs pressing together as I reach to retrieve my sweater from where it had fallen on the floor. Balancing my phone between my shoulder and ear as I shrugged it on in an attempt to ward off the chill that had seeming settled over me since my little experiment had ended, I button the garment and tuck my feet beneath me, smoothing my dress over my bare legs. It’s only once I am settled again that I process the words. I can almost hear the smile in his voice and I can feel my cheeks flame in the dark. “Intense is good. And I’m not even sure how to think about that, Sir. I can’t imagine.” The small device that I had dropped into my purse had sent me nearly over the edge and the idea of anything even just a little stronger was almost unfathomable. “ I look forward to it, Sir, very much. And please don’t apologize. I don’t mind Mr. Wentz at all.” 

 

“I would be lying if I said I didn’t as well, Charleigh, very much so.” There was a hint of longing in the words even as Mr. Stump’s voice broke into a soft moan, one I was quite familiar with at this point. “I should probably let you go so you can finish your movie.” 

 

I giggled, the sound high and almost foreign at the statement, as I thoughtfully chewed a piece of popcorn. I was ridiculous, and I knew it. My fingertips tingled and I wanted nothing more than to just push a little closer that edge that had somehow always illuded me but I knew, somehow, that if I even entertained the thought, Mr. Stump would know. Despite having a politician and lawyer for parents, I couldn’t lie to save my life. “Honestly, Sir? I don’t care about the movie. It was just a means to an end and it got me out of a late lunch with my mother so I do have to thank you for that.” 

The laugh that rang through the line was loud and genuine, bringing a smile to my face as well. “Well, Angel, if it got you out of a lunch with your mother, I won’t apologize. I’m glad I could be of service, in fact.” Mr. Stump sucked in a sharp breath, hissing quietly and I could hear, once again, the sound of rich, carefree laughter from somewhere past him in his office. “If you will excuse me, I have some impertinence to deal with. It was lovely, as always Angel.” There was another, unstifled groan just before the line went dead, knowing full well what was going on. 

I blushed brightly at the realization, glancing around the still empty theatre as the phone went silent. My smile must have been ridiculous and I glanced at the phone in my hand for a moment before dropping it in my bag. Gathering my soda and popcorn, candy tucked safely away, I headed down the stairs, my footsteps silenced under the almost painful sounds from the movie. I squinted as I left the theatre, the sunlight bright even as far away from the lobby as I was. Depositing my barely touched snack into the trash, I paused and swapped my glasses, slipping my sunglasses on in preparation of the blinding Vegas afternoon sun. I could hear the soft snickers of the employees that were scattered through the lobby and gave a small smile as I passed headed straight for the doors. 

“Hope you enjoyed the show, ma’am, please be sure to come again.” My steps faltered for the slightest moment and my face went bright red at not only the words but the knowing tone behind them. Taking a deep breath, I shifted my purse on my shoulder, straightened my spine and headed out the doors into the sweltering heat without another look back.


	23. Chapter Twenty Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fundraisers and first times...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well... This happened. This has been in the works for a long time, and has been something I have been both dreading and excited about since waaayyyyy back at chapter one. 
> 
> This is a long one, y'all... buckle on up. While I don't claim to be an expert on content, I really try to be as genuine and respectful as I can, it is so important to me. In doing that, some things may not be super pleasant. I'm willing to take the hit for that; comments, questions, kudos and constructive criticism are welcome. In fact, they make me super happy. 
> 
> I possibly cried a little while writing this, I'm sorry. 
> 
> There are probably mistakes but I haven't caught them, if you see one let me know and I will fix it. 
> 
> For the illustrious Flames_And_Jade because she is wonderful
> 
> All of the thanks and van days Patricks to SnitchesAndTalkers for, well, teatime chats. 
> 
> And to all of you who are reading, thank you for sharing your time with me, it means more than I can say.
> 
> Aural Satisfaction is '9 Crimes' by Damien Rice.

“Charleigh James, stop looking at the clock.” My mother’s low whisper was accompanied by a sharp pinch to my thigh under the table as though I was six and not twenty-six. I started, shaking my head and turned to glance at her, with what I hoped was an apologetic smile and a whispered apology before turning my attention back to my plate. I wasn’t hungry, not in the least, but my company had been subtly requested as a fundraising event of my father’s. If ‘You will be there, no excuses’ could possibly be called subtle. 

A grand ballroom at the Bellagio was the last place I wanted to be right now. The last five days had been a whirlwind, to say the least. Between my parents schedule that they imposed on me, teaching and the time that I had been devoting to Mr. Stump’s assignment, I was stretched beyond thin. Sleep was fitful at best, my dreams haunted by a familiar smile and whispered commands. It was not unpleasant in the least just… frustrating. I had been on edge for the last week, pushing any boundaries that I may have had and doing thing I never in a million years imagined. And I never, not once, felt anything less than safe and confident in my actions. 

I peeked at the clock again out of the corner of my eye and worried my lip between my teeth. I hadn’t anticipated returning to Flame until tomorrow evening but I had been told, during yesterday’s call that my presence was requested tonight. I wasn’t going to argue. It was seven thirty and I was almost a twenty minute walk from the club and I refused to be late. Sliding my nearly untouched plate back, I lean towards my mother, immaculate in ice blue silk, and whisper as quietly as I can manage.

“I have to go, mother.” Her eyes widened and she whipped her head around, leveling her gaze at me. 

“Charleigh James Gabriel. You do not have to go. You know how hard your father is working right now, it is important, IMPERATIVE, that you be here to support him. Now stop this nonsense and pay attention.” For a woman who had spent nearly three decades in Boston, my mother always seemed to revert back to her Georgia roots when she was upset, whether it was intentional or not, her sugary sweet drawl always became more pronounced and she had an air of fragility that was never present otherwise.

“I’m sorry, mother, this is not negotiable.” I let my gaze shoot over to my father who was mid speech about… something important, no doubt. I hated these functions more than almost anything. It wasn’t about support, not really, it was about painting a perfect picture for the public. The voters who tended to appreciate my father liked wholesome, honest values, family and the American dream. That was why I was dolled up in prim pink, the sequins and silk elegant but tasteful, thank you Ashley, with my hair swept up just so and contacts in. My jewelry and shoes were both tasteful, the former having come straight from my Grandmother’s jewelry box for my commencement. The entire ensemble played off both of my parents outfits; we were a set of Barbies, complete with the limo and dream house. I couldn’t stand it. Tipping back the last of my moscato, I gathered my clutch and stood, much to my mother’s obvious outrage, and turned on my heel, slipping out the back door of the ballroom. 

The tiny thrill that shot through me was short lived as I dropped my head and made my way to the lobby and outside into the humid Las Vegas night. I had no doubt I would hear about this for quite a while tomorrow but tonight I had far more important things to focus on. 

I kept my head down as I wove through the throngs of people that always seemed to be crowding the Vegas sidewalks, deftly sidestepping a few revelers who were a bit too deep in their cups, pulling the pins from my complicated updo and dropping them to the asphalt. 

The walk was quick and before I realized it, I was staring, stock still at the familiar red doors. They always held my attention for a moment, and I reveled in their simple beauty as I climbed the stairs and swiped my keycard. 

It was cool and dark inside, almost uncomfortably so, and I rubbed my hands over my bare arms in a vain attempt to ward off a chill as I leaned against a wall and waited for Mr. Stump, anticipation running through my veins. Lindsey, observant as always had glanced up from her phone call with an appraising nod and a bright smile, rolling her eyes before returning to her work. I leaned back in what had become my usual spot and waited for Mr. Stump to appear. 

I allowed my gaze to wander, much like I had on my first night. Tonight, however, I could see thanks to my contacts and things were… interesting in sharp focus. here were people scattered throughout the entire space, groups of two, three and more were talking, drinking and, tucked into a corner by the bar there was a public scene which involved both a ball gag and a cane. I couldn’t hear the buzz of conversation over the music that pumped through the speakers but the song was familiar. 

My attention was caught by a woman dressed in red, the color almost aflame as she moved through the crowd with an almost predatory grace, the hem of her ruby gown flirting with the ankle straps of her sky high heels. Her pale skin seemed to glow in the darkness and from my vantage point I could see colored ink swirling over her arms. I had never seen her before, that I knew of, but she seemed so familiar. I was nearly captivated, and I couldn’t explain why. 

“Good evening, Angel.” A light touch on my hand, accompanied by a familiar voice pulled me quickly out of my reverie and I gasped as I spun to see Mr. Stump standing beside me, my small hand nearly disappearing in his. A smile played on his lips and I felt something stir in my stomach. There was something in his gaze, something dark and nearly seductive that had a chill racing down my spine and I can feel a flush creep up my chest and neck to my cheeks at not only the innocent touch, which had my already tightly wound body on edge, but the words, all three of them, delivered in that calm, assured cadence.

“ Good evening, Sir. It’s a pleasure to see you again.” My own voice was as far from calm as it could be, cracking just the slightest bit as I shifted my weight from foot to foot, my free hand smoothing over the sequins, nails running over the delicate silk.  
Mr. Stump smiled, dipping his head just slightly closer, and tilted his chin in the direction of the hallway he had just come from, his gaze diverted for the briefest of moments by a yelp from the main floor. “ The pleasure is mine, as always. Shall we head to my office? 

I nodded at the words, said with so much confidence and pulled my lip between my teeth as I followed behind Mr. Stump through the now familiar corridors, my hands trembling with both anticipation and excitement. The small clutch that was draped over my shoulder felt like it weighed a ton, it’s contents seeming to taunt me with every step. My hand, still warm from Mr. Stump’s touch, joined its mate, my fingers tapping against my skirt. There was an almost electric energy sparking through my veins the closer we got to the door and it took everything in me too keep them from shaking as we both came to a stop in front of the elegant door. I stood close behind Mr. Stump, but not overly so, and the faint scent of salt and leather with the slightest hint of cologne drifted to my nose. My senses were already in overdrive from the last week and it was taking everything in me not to reach out, aching for contact. “ Thank you, Sir. I have been looking forward to it.” 

“I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t as well.” Mr. Stump clicked the door shut and moved past me, his fingers just barely ghosting over my arm. “Is there anything you need before we begin?” 

It was strange, the sense of near calm that washed over me as soon as I heard the door shut. The anticipation, that ache, and the fear had not lessened any; rather they had seemingly intensified, but I felt at ease, in a strange way. The room was familiar, comfortable even after only a few visits and I could feel the tension that had been pressing on my shoulders all night simply lift. I let my gaze wander fleetingly around the room. Everything was exactly as I remembered it with one glaring, and slightly confusing exception. I was beyond puzzled but had very little time to actually ponder my questions before Mr. Stump’s voice drifts to my ears and I shake my head, bangs falling in front of my eyes.

“No, thank you, Sir, I’m fine, although it is very kind of you to ask. “ My voice seemed back to normal, no waiver or crack at all that had been present back in the main club, and I inwardly smiled as I slipped the wrap from my shoulders, suddenly stifling despite the cool air.

“Kind is a word that is seldom applied to me these days, Angel, but thank you.” 

 

The words, although simple, had a dark, foreboding undertone and the chill that ran down my spine had little to do with the frigid air being pumped in from overhead. It took a moment for my mind to register that my bag was now set aside and as soon as I opened my mouth to speak, a small squeak slipped from my lips. The lowering of the zipper at the back of my dress sounded almost unbearably loud to my heightened senses. I stood, stock still, as the material loosened around my torso, nearly shaking as Mr. Stump’s hand slid slowly, almost torturously, back up my spine. My gasp was soft and I kept my eyes down as I moved with the gentle pressure, my gaze fixed on the sparkling straps of my shoes that were peeking out beneath the hem of my gown. My voice was almost tiny when I finally spoke. “I’m sure my opinion on that won’t be swayed immensely, Sir, if I may be so straightforward.”

Mr. Stump laughed, his breath warm against the exposed skin of my back. “While I will not argue with you, I can say that you are one of the few people that still holds that opinion. And I do so hope you are right.” His fingers wandered as he spoke, playing what felt like scales along my spine. Each touch, no matter how light, seemed to rock my to my very core and it was nearly all I could do to stand upright, my knees wavering as I felt Mr. Stump’s hand sliding just barely over my skin to rest on my shoulders. I sucked in a sharp gasp as my dress falls, not quite all the way, catching on my hips to hang in the space between us. 

He couldn’t have been more than a few inches from me and even as he moved I could feel the warmth that seemed to radiate from him, but it felt at the same time like miles. I wanted nothing more than to just close that gap, press tightly and just feel, but I couldn’t. And so I didn’t, instead staying stock still even as fingers skimmed down towards my waist and gave a slight push sending my dress to the floor; the soft swish of sequins and silk just barely audible as I stood in nothing but my newly purchased lingerie from my impromptu trip to The Toy Box. The soft white lace and silk was simple, lovely and very much a delightful surprise. 

I kept my eyes down, studying the pale pink polish that seemed so ridiculously out of place on my otherwise battered toes as though it was the most interesting thing I had ever seen. It was far from my first choice but, as always, my mother would not be swayed. 

Mr. Stump was so close that I could feel his warm breath over my cheek and I glanced up catching his eyes, allowing myself a moment of abandon to lose myself in his intense gaze. “We shall see, Sir.”

I couldn’t help the shiver at the soft laugh that slips from Mr. Stump’s lips as he traced a finger over my collarbone before he stepped back completely and turned. I don’t drop my gaze as Mr. Stump moves, following him intently as he walks away and settles with an almost distinguished grace, as it were, into a nearby chair. “On your knees for me, Angel. Crawl over to me, please.” 

I can feel his gaze roam over me, taking in each curve and line in turn, as though, once again I’m art. But there is something else this time, something almost hungry behind his eyes and it thrills me in a way that it probably shouldn’t. The direction has me off guard for just an instant and I quickly come to my senses, carefully sinking to my knees, allowing myself to gauge the floor beneath me for a moment before lowering my hands and dropping my head. The ends of my hair, that would have less than a year ago, brushed the ground swung over my shoulders as I crawled towards the chair, slowly and almost cautiously, glancing up only when I can see the toes of Mr. Stump’s shoes in my line of sight. Rising slowly, I rest my ass on my heels and cross my wrists together behind my back. “Yes, Sir. “

Mr. Stump’s smile at the words was immediate and I felt a sudden flash of pride, my smile straightening ever so slightly. His fingers slipped over my bare shoulder, resting carefully between my shoulder blades. “Tell me how this week was for you, Angel. I know very well how it has been for me. Captivating, is one word that comes to mind.” 

My body reacts almost instantly to the gentle touch, the warmth from his large hand as it lingered against my upper back pulling the softest of gasp from between my lips. His words, at once so casual and loaded beyond compare nearly had me shaking and I pulled my lip between my teeth as I pondered my answer, ignoring the last part of the statement to save myself from bouncing slightly in excitement. “It was very different, Sir. I’ve done things that not only had I never imagined but never knew I was capable of. At the same time I have felt an absolute need, an ache that has been almost constant. But there was still that fear, I think, and I feel like it will always be there. What if I can never move past whatever it is that’s wrong with me?”  
I was being candid, beyond such, but I was safe here, between these four walls, with this man. More so than I was anywhere else, and not just in the physical sense. Emotionally, psychologically, I was safer than I had ever been. Being here, in this position was my choice, and one in which I had never wavered, even for a moment. The slight burst of confidence that bubbles up within me as the word captivating swirls in my need addled mind is more than slightly surprising. The fact that I had had any effect on Mr. Stump at all during the phone calls was a surprise of the best kind and that word itself nearly struck me dumb. “I’m glad you enjoyed yourself, Sir.” 

 

The hand that traveled so carefully along my spine had me very nearly squirming, both from the touch and the near tickle of fingers on my bare skin. I exhaled softly in an attempt to center myself, keeping my eyes forward. 

“I did, very much. But I promise you that there is more in store. Come along, Angel.” The calm was short lived as Mr. Stump’s hand slowly pulled my hair back, the gentle fingers closing around my blonde locks and pulling sharply as he stepped away. The motion had me catching my breath, and a slight tingle ran along my scalp as I rose to my feet, stumbling slightly as I followed behind Mr. Stump, taking the few steps as calmly as I could. 

The words nearly taunted me as they spun through my mind and I trailed my tongue over my lips as I turn my attention from the man beside me and the almost enigmatic tone in his voice to the new addition to the room, the device resembling nothing so much as a saddle. I was confused, to say the least, and my curiosity was, as it always seemed to be here, piqued and the combination of the mental stimulation and the days of phone calls and pressure building up had me almost squirming and my voice cracked slightly as I came to a stop beside Mr. Stump. “Yes, Sir.”

I was lead, with a firm grip on my hair, to the center of the room, following easily before almost stumbling to a stop. I bit my lip hard between my teeth, the sharp sting taking my mind off the fingers that slipped down my hip, pulling the beautiful, delicate fabric down just enough catch on my knees. The single finger that traveled almost painfully slowly up to tease across the overly sensitive and already wet flesh between my legs was a beautiful torture. 

“For me, Angel?” Mr. Stump’s voice was low against my ear, his teeth just barely skimming across my skin. My confidence wavered just slightly and a moan slipped from my lips at the gentle exploration and I could hear Mr. Stump’s satisfied purr spurring me on. “Sit down for me.” 

Nodding mutely, I allowed him to guide me, and I moved just a bit to allow my panties to fall to the floor. I stepped out of them easily, nearly shivering with anticipation as Mr. Stump’s strong hands guided me exactly where I was supposed to be. I pulled in a sharp breath as I lowered myself to straddle the unfamiliar contraption and glanced back up, both eager and slightly nervous. It had been days of teasing; wanting and anticipation building with each call and I had no idea where I would end up. “Yes, Sir.” I am left with barely a moment to collect my thoughts before I hear a soft click and a low hum. My breath catches instantly in my throat at the sensation that instantly rocks through me. It’s nearly overwhelming after so long and I allow myself a moment to simply feel. My eyes close and I arch my back, wiggling slightly as I work to force my body to calm, even just a bit. The vibrations are intense, making the small devices that were tucked In my purse seem like nothing. I can already feel my body trembling with need, the last seven days of being so near the edge having caught up with me quickly. Rolling my hips, I gasp at the strength of the machine, the constant, nearly painful pleasure that it coaxes from me. 

A warm shoulder brushes mine as Mr. Stump kneels beside me, his nimble fingers carefully flicking open the clasp on my bra and setting it aside gently before returning his hands to my arms slipping down until they held my wrists, his thumbs brushing softly over the delicate skin. “You have done so well, this week, Charleigh. I am very proud of you. I think that you are far overdue for a bit of a reward.” 

Mr. Stump’s words, however, held nearly the same power that the machine did as they drifted to my ears. The praise and promise of something, even if I wasn’t sure what, was almost more than I could handle and my throat was dry as I attempt to speak, my voice a squeak. “Thank you, Sir.”

“You earned every moment of this, Charleigh, there is no need to thank me. Besides, I am quite enjoying myself as well.” There was a sly smirk in his words*I pulled in a sharp breath at the words, the possibilities whirling through my mind. I was still not quite able to process the possibility that Mr. Stump had laid out, although I’d had a bit of a taste in my visits. I force myself to open my eyes, body trembling as I squeak at the increased sensation as the speed kicks up, and glance up, meeting a pair of sparkling eyes, something dark and alluring hiding behind them, something that I needed to see more of, to explore and know however I could.  
The prospect of release, not only physically, which was beyond needed at this point, but mentally; to let go of the tension and need, finally drop the facade of perfection that I’d been wearing for a week. I buck my hips, a strangled moan catching in my throat as I attempt to speak through the sensations that very nearly overwhelm me with each passing moment. “I hope I don’t disappoint you, Sir.” The words were breathy, punctuated by soft gasps as I fight what I know is a losing battle to keep my composure. 

“Stop, Charleigh. You’re holding back again. You could never disappoint me, not unless you gave up on yourself and you won’t do that, will you?” Although it was a question, the demand went unspoken and nimble fingers slipped over the curve of my breast before giving my already pebbled nipple a slight twist as his words were spoken against my ear. “Now. Stop. Holding. Back.” 

The touch, rough and almost demanding, nearly does me in, the slight flare of pain at the first brush quickly pulling a low moan from deep within me as the movement is repeated with a bit more force as he spoke, punctuating each word and sending a wave of not only lust but sheer need racing through me. Between the vibrations against my overstimulated clit, the tweak of a hardened nipple and that voice I almost fell apart right there. Swallowing thickly, I nod, shaking my hair from my eyes and force the simple words through parched lips.

“Yes, Sir.” It takes everything I have to speak and once the words passed my lips, I gave in, not only to the simple order, but to Mr. Stump, with everything that was in me. My skin was on fire despite the cool air, my hair feeling almost uncomfortably heavy as it hung down my neck, and I gave up the pretense of control, unafraid and open to whatever may come next, eager and more than willing, as I allowed the increasingly more wanton moans to escape, seeming to echo in the room, accompanied by only the buzzing of the machine beneath me, in the moments that always seemed to build up just before that familiar buzz of frustration set in.

The vibrations are unrelenting, each small shift changing the angle that my already overstimulated clit presses against the device. My body shakes and trembles with each pulse, my breathing ragged and rushed even as strong hands grip my hips and push me down harder, firmly but not painfully, to drive me closer to the edge. 

“You are doing so good, Angel. Talk to me, tell me what you need.” It was a struggle to abide by the words that were growled in my ear, and my voice is even more husky than usual as I force my answer out, shaking slightly as I fight to remain still even as Mr. Stumps hands tightened on my hips.

“Sir. I want- I- can you?” My brain refused to work, still In the throes of passion as I attempted to string words together in some semblance of order, although it was futile as I met Mr. Stump’s gaze. 

“What, Angel… tell me what you want.” The words were almost a growl, low and demanding against my ear, delivered at the same time a sharp slap stung across my thigh. 

I don't bother fighting my moans, not for an instant, and I cry out, arching my back as his hand knots in my hair again. It takes me a moment to open my eyes and I try and catch my gasping breath, inhaling sharply as I struggle to get my words in order so I can speak. My throat is dry, my voice huskier than usual and I swallow hard, my hips still wriggling and rocking in time with the unceasing vibrations beneath me. When I finally gather my thoughts, I meet Mr. Stump's gaze, my face still aflame. “I want - I need more, Sir. Please.” I ball my hands into fists, my short nails digging into my palms to keep from slipping them between my legs as I wriggle, my body aching for more contact. “Please, Sir.” The last words were quiet, a repeated and needy plea, and I pull my bottom lip between my teeth, my body nearly trembling with need, the tension of the last seven days still very present with each movement, the vibrations doing nothing to ease that. “Please.”

“You want more, Angel? I can give you more but you need to ask better than that” His voice sent shivers through my already trembling form, and it took everything in me not to stand as he spoke. His hands knotted tightly in my hair, guiding me to my feet, and I managed a small, almost indiscernible nod as I open my eyes fully, sucking in a quiet breath as I realize how close he is. I can feel the sweet warmth of his breath ghosting over my shoulder and neck, my body aching in response. The words hit me like a sledgehammer, leaving me thrumming with anticipation as memories of his skilled hands and calloused fingers float through my mind. I’m about to open my mouth to speak when the stinging grip slips from my knotted hair and strong hands lift me easily, tightly around my waist. The movement is natural for me after so many years and I point my toes in my strappy shoes, the arch of my foot popping the flimsy toe strap and leaving it hanging off of my left foot, dangling in the air. I keep my eyes closed as I am moved, hair swinging over my shoulders, but it is brief, ending abruptly as I come to a jerky stop draped over the arm of the couch. I let out a quiet gasp as I relax despite my constantly excited physical state, and blow my hair out of my eyes as my cheek presses against the soft cushion. Bent at the waist, my hands rest by my head and my feet, heels as together as they can be in my broken shoe, slide automatically into first position, my legs pressed tightly together, the sensation both calming and exciting. “Thank you, Sir. “ My voice is thready as I struggle to regulate my breathing, the gasps almost wavering in anticipation of what may come next. 

“Thanking me may not be the best idea, Angel, if you don't say stop…” A strong hand slipped easily up my spine as he spoke, his lips brushing against my ear. “You have tempted me since the first fucking moment I saw you with Saporta. From the moment I walked into that room the first night, I was fucking enraptured. And then when you danced… I nearly hit him for that stunt he pulled.”

The contact alone nearly has me crying out, my seemingly long neglected body aching for touch of any kind and touch was exactly what I got; the hand sliding up my spine, the warmth on the back of my thighs and the obvious arousal pressed tightly against my bare ass. He fit against me perfectly. My head swirled and I gasped back a soft moan even as I wriggled backwards almost instinctively against him. His words at once melodic, tempting and almost chilling, raced through me directly and I could feel the wetness on my already slick thighs increase as a flush spread up my chest. Mr. Stump’s warm weight pressed heavily against my back, his voice low and certain in my ear as I raked my nails along the couch to ball my hands into fists. I didn’t need to think about the statement, not for a moment, and I spoke as soon as I could get my bearings to form a full sentence, although one that was broken by sharp gasps and tiny moans. “ I’m not stopping you.” The words were nearly a whisper, meant only for him and seeming to echo in the empty room as I turned my neck twisting my head as far as I could in an attempt to catch his eyes. “Please, Sir?” 

 

I shivered in anticipation, my body flushed with both arousal and excitement as I heard the lowering of a zipper, the clasp of a buckle and the pop of a button echo through the quiet room like a shot. I held Mr. Stump’s gaze over my shoulder as long as I could, watching as his eyes darkened with lust and something else, something that I couldn’t quite pinpoint. My own body, already primed from the earlier exertion was seemingly betraying me but maybe, maybe things would be different. 

 

My arms shook and a moan slipped from between my lips as I felt the first touch, that incredible tease which nearly had my knees shaking. 

To say this was unexpected would have been an understatement and, somewhere in my mind, his words from that first night I had returned rang out although they sounded, in my memory, distant and almost dreamy as I waited for another touch, another tease, the anticipation tinged with the slightest hint of delicious uncertainty. I wasn’t a virgin, although I was not far from it, even if I hadn't had sex with Mr. Saporta. My father’s straight laced politics had worked their way into every aspect of my life, whether I wanted them to or not, and that just made this moment, here and now, all the more potent. 

I waited, my gaze locked on his, with baited breath until he shifted, sliding forward in a single push. Christ almighty. My body, unaccustomed at this point to such powerful feeling, shook and my eyes closed as my mouth fell open in a silent cry, pleasure tinged with just the slightest hint of pain as I struggled to focus less on myself and more on the man behind me.

 

“Sir” My whimpers, quiet at first, quickly shifted to moans, as I felt Mr. Stump’s strong hands rest on my waist as he moved slowly, almost carefully at first. The hesitancy, such as it was, was appreciated as my body quickly adjusted to the pleasurable sensation after so very long. My skin was on fire in every place that he touched as I rocked and shifted as much as I could draped over the couch, needing more, now, again. I felt almost tiny beneath his hands although not nearly fragile as I turned myself over to my baser instincts allowing myself to not think but just feel. The pretense of perfection, so carefully crafted outside of this room, fell away with almost eager abandon and I twisted as much as I could with each trust, aching for even a slight glimpse of Mr. Stump as I panted and writhed in desire, my words broken and scattered. “I want- can- harder, Sir. Please?

“You can have anything you need Angel.” The words were spoken on a moan as Mr. Stump pushed his hips forward. 

Squeaking softly, I arch my back as my hair, just an instant ago falling in unruly waves that brushed over my shoulders, is pulled tightly and my head turned so I can see each movement Mr. Stump makes as he thrusts deeply inside me, pulling a strangled, almost wanton cry from my throat. I push my hips back to meet his as best as I can, my leverage severely compromised by my broken shoe, and I push up on my toes my feet arching as I watch, awed, my head growing lighter with each movement, lust and need warring with my last shred of self control. That thread snaps, exquisitely so, as strong fingers grip my hips almost painfully. I know that there will be bruises there in no time and the thought excites me far more than it should while I struggle for words that seem almost impossible to grasp. “Don’t stop, please.” The plea sounds almost foreign even to me, my voice low and breathy as I fully let go, giving every part of myself over to be placed in Mr. Stump’s very capable hands.

“Fuck.” The single word was cried out between labored pants, foreign and perfect on my tongue. I had absolutely no control of myself anymore, giving myself over to Mr Stump in every sense of the word. I didn’t think, I didn’t listen, I didn’t plan I just… felt. Each thrust brought with it a seemingly ever greater wave of pleasure and I could already feel myself on that edge again, balancing precariously on that precipice of pleasure as I writhed and pushed back brazenly into every stroke, fueled by pent up need and unceasing desire. My hands grasped futilely at the soft cushions of the couch and I forced my eyes open to look at Mr. Stump as best as I could, taking in the ecstasy written across his face and committing it to memory as I cried out, stumbling over my words. “I’m gonna- I think- I need…”

The hand twisted in my hair tightened, drawing my back up with his other hand sliding to my abdomen, pulling me tightly against his clothed chest, his lips brushing my neck “Tell me what you need, Charleigh.” 

 

I moved with each thrust, arching and bending beneath Mr. Stump’s hand as he pulls my hair tight, guiding me with the twinge of pain back, my eyes meeting his. I was lost for a moment in their depths, the hidden worlds behind them as I forced myself to listen, not just feel, to focus on his body, the pleasure of each touch and moan. My throat was dry and my voice cracked as I fought to stop the cries that seemed increasingly louder as I pleaded. “I need to come, Sir, please.” Each thrust, touch, hell every moan, sent me closer and closer to release, and I was afraid as I got closer that I wouldn’t be able to hold back but if the last week had taught me anything, it was both patience. I ached for Mr. Stump in every way and at this moment I would give anything to hear just a few words, to feel him fall apart with me; to see his always composed exterior fall apart even just a bit because of me. The image of him writhing beneath Mr. Wentz sprang to my mind and I ached with it. Simply the idea had my hands shaking and I balled them into fists as best as I could, pressing my behind backwards, as I gasped again and again to catch my breath and force two words out. “Please, Sir.”

A strong arm slipped tightly around my waist and words were whispered against my neck with a gentle kiss. “Come for me, Angel.”

Four words and an arm around my waist. That was all it took, that permission, that simple, almost tender touch and I was screaming, my head dropped back and eyes slammed closed as wave after wave of pleasure slammed through me, unlike anything I had felt before. My body tensed, each muscle in turn and I stiffened, my feet arching to push off the floor. Somewhere, in the deepest recesses of my mind, I heard the pop of leather snapping but it meant nothing, not at the moment as I trembled and writhed beneath Mr. Stump, feeling him still against me, inside me even through the haze of ecstasy, my eyes closed and my heart pounding in my ears. I need to feel him. It was more than a need somehow, although I could not even begin to comprehend what or why that was, I rocked my hips in a last, frenzied movement, pushing myself up on now bare toes for as much contact as possible, pleading with my body as my voice was currently still echoing off of the walls of the elegant room in brazen screams.

I could feel him all around me, even as shocks raced through my veins. My head jerked back, hard, and I screamed, more in pleasure than pain, another climax slamming into me with more force than I could have imagined as I felt Mr. Stump’s own release with every fibre of my being. It was far more than just physical, somehow. The pleasure was exquisite but that knowing, the belonging and the sense of fully giving myself to this man and, in turn being able to feel his satisfaction; knowing that I had pleased him, feeling that in his grip, hearing it in the low moans that rang in my ears that was better than any orgasm could ever be. My body still trembled, my skin alight with each movement even as I went limp, my legs finally giving out, as I slumped forward, Mr.Stump’s arm around my waist and the grip on my hair the only things keeping me from collapsing against the couch. My mouth was dry and my voice cracked as I opened my eyes and whispered the only words that I could. “Thank you, Sir. “

The hand that had been around my waist trailed up my abdomen to rest almost delicately against my neck, opposite of his lips that I could feel turned up in a smile between gasps. “It would probably be appropriate to say you’re welcome, right?”

My legs trembled at the gentle, soothing touch and I let my head drop forward, my hair falling in tangled waves. My breathing was still heavy, labored in the best way, and my hands grasped the arm of the couch for balance, a small giggle slipping from my lips at the slight tickle just below my ear. 

My shoes were fairly useless at the moment, both hanging limply from the ankle straps thanks to my enthusiastic exertions, and I shifted my weight from one to the other so that I could attempt to stand without falling over. I could feel the flush still present in my skin, covered with a slick sheen of sweat and I wrinkled my nose at the thought of marring the pristine sofa with my mess despite wanting nothing more than to just collapse on the plush surface. As Mr. Stump shifted slightly, I mourned the loss of his warmth for just a moment before pushing myself upright, my head still a bit light in the most lovely of ways. “I don’t want to make a mess of your couch.”The words sounded ridiculous, even to myself, and I immediately shook my head in embarrassment although I couldn't seem to get it together to vocalize anything else.

The laugh that reached my ears was honest and genuine, with a warmth underlying it that I had only heard fifteen floors above us. “Sometimes a couch is just a couch, despite what they say.”

I squeaked in both surprise and just a twinge of loss as Mr. Stump gathered me quickly in his arms and settled us both easily onto the couch. Stretching out my still shaking legs, I eyed my broken shoes and considered removing them for a moment before deciding against it and instead settling easily into Mr. Stump, relishing the warmth against my bare skin. I couldn’t hide the shiver that ran through me as my skin rapidly cooled, no thanks to the air conditioning, but it was the last thing from my mind as I rested my head against his shoulder and sighed softly, the tender touch along my bare back going far to soothe my slightly heightened nerves and I stifled a yawn. “ That feels lovely, Sir, thank you.”

“The pleasure was all mine, Angel, truly.” Mr. Stump smiled and twined his fingers through mine, bringing my hand up to brush a kiss across the inside of my wrist. It was a sweet, endlessly endearing gesture, and I melted just a little bit each time he repeated it; this was no exception. I was already tired, physically and mentally. The last week had taken it’s toll in more ways than one, and I was still shaking and achy as I fought another yawn. “Would you like to stay tonight? The spare room is already made up.” 

Although it was posed as a request, I knew just as much as he did that it was not one and nodded easily, wriggling my toes before stretching forward to work open the ankle straps on my shoes. “I’d like that very much, thank you Sir.” 

“Thank you, Charleigh.” The words were just barely above a whisper as I shifted forward, pouting as Mr. Stump slipped out from behind me, gathering up scattered undergarments, broken shoes, a purse and my gown in a few efficient steps. Standing slowly, I stretched my arms above my head, my back cracking in a series of soothing pops. There was a quiet laugh as Mr, Stumped used my position to his advantage, carefully slipping my gown over my head and smoothing it gently once it hung straight, pulling up the zipper adjusting one of the shoulders before casting a look down at the puddle of fabric that surrounded my feet. “I know that pain.” His smile was knowing and he offered an arm, which I took swiftly, allowing myself to be lead easily from the room.

I was still more than slightly fuzzy headed for the duration of the trip up to the sixteenth floor, and I chalked it easily up to a combination of sleep deprivation and exertion on a whole other level. As the elevator doors slid open, Mr. Stump’s hand rested in the hollow of my lower back to steer me into the apartment. 

Pete stood in the kitchen doorway, bare chested and barefooted, the same batman pajama pants he had been wearing on my first morning slung low on his hips. The smile on his face was absolutely blinding and he nearly radiated mischief. “Evening, Sweetheart. How was your night?” 

Patrick laughed, moving his arm to drape over my shoulders and guiding me towards the couch, settling me back down on his lap as Damien Rice crooned from the record player.

“Yes, Angel, how was your night?” He parroted the words with a pointed glance over at Pete but pressed a kiss to my temple just after, and I dropped my head onto his shoulder, the haze from earlier still lingering. 

“My night was perfect, thank you both. I’m exhausted and it kind of feels like I have been dunked into a glass of champagne.” My tongue was looser than normal, the usual walls I put up for the sake of propriety long since gone and my candor was apparently amusing, drawing laughter from both Patrick and Pete. 

“You know champagne seems to be like the only logical step now. Terrific idea!” Pete had barely finished talking before he vanished back into the kitchen. I took advantage of the moment, smiling sleepily up at Patrick as his hand rested on my cheek. The silence was crackling with something more than tension as his thumb brushed across my lower lip. He was so close that I could feel the soft warmth of his breath as he sighed, his gaze dropping, just for a moment to my mouth. 

Whether it was an impulse driven by exhaustion, the remains of desire, or just plain want that had been simmering for longer than I cared to consider, I didn’t know, but it didn’t factor in as I leaned in impulsively to meet Patrick’s lips. 

 

Impulsivity had never been my strong suit, and that didn’t change now, nor would it in the future. 

Patrick turned at the last moment, and I stopped short, freezing in place and dropping my gaze to avoid his eyes. They were kind, of course, they almost always were, but that absolutely didn’t make things any easier. “Charleigh, I don’t. It’s not you.” The words were just barely a whisper, kind and gentle, but they did little to ease the sudden rock that had settled in my stomach or the prick of tears in my eyes. 

“It’s okay. I shouldn’t have, it’s alright.” I struggled to keep my voice from shaking, suddenly entranced by the embellishments on my gown asI fought to keep my composure, at least for the moment before I slipped of Patrick’s lap, standing on slightly shaky legs. “I’m just going to use the restroom.” If I kept my head down, it was easier to hide the tears, to contain the hurt that I couldn’t explain. I felt exposed in a way that I hadn’t ever before, even after being naked in front of countless strangers. 

“Sorry the cork was being a bitch- where is she going?” I had brushed past Pete with little more than a glance as I headed straight for the restroom, closing the door behind me and leaning against it as I relished the silence for a moment. It was cool and dark, calm against the noise and warmth of the two men in the other room and I simply stood there for a moment, struggling to keep my breathing even. It didn’t work. The first sob slipped out unbidden, and I clasped my hand over my mouth to keep another from escaping, that same familiar ache rushing through my veins. It was followed by another, and the tears that sting at my eyes spilled over, trailing down my cheeks. I swiped at them ineffectually, my thoughts still whirling as I tried to figure out what, exactly was going on. I only ended up with more questions as the minutes passed, and the answers seemed to linger just out of reach. 

“Charleigh, you mind if I come in?” The voice on the other side of the door was uncharacteristically quiet and my breath caught for just a moment as I realized that it was Pete. I nodded, despite the fact that it wouldn’t be seen, and stepped away from the door, swiping my hands over my cheeks to get rid of any evidence of the stray tears that had escaped before turning the handle and settling on the edge of the counter. 

It was still dark but I could see the lights behind Pete, and hear the soft music that was almost too much. He somehow understood and slipped into the bathroom, closing the door behind him and crossed to me without a word, pulling me into a gentle embrace. 

I crumpled into him, my face resting against his neck as a sob slipped out, muffled against his warm, clean skin as I wept, for reasons I didn’t know, clinging to him as though he would keep me from drowning in the mess of my own emotions. 

His assurances were muttered soft and sweet against my hair, gentle assurances that everything was okay as his hand rubbed gently over my back, simply holding me as I fell apart, though I still didn’t know why.


	24. Chapter Twenty Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eavesdropping and assumptions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so. compared to the last chapter, this is like... a blink, but it felt like a natural stopping place. It may not be nearly as long, but I think it was an important moment. 
> 
> Comments, kudos and questions make me happy as a bee in a greenhouse. I will adore each and every one. 
> 
> I know there are mistakes, I own them. 
> 
> As always, this is for Flames_And_Jade who is just THE BEST.
> 
> Thanks and all the oreo cheesecakes go out to SnitchesAndTalkers for her endless support and her ability to listen to me babble. 
> 
> Thank you, especially, to everyone who is reading, I am eternally thankful for you taking the time to read my little tale. 
> 
> Aural Satisfaction is 'Best Of You" by Foo Fighters

“Explain.” There was a harshness behind the voice as it pierced the thin veil of sleep that had settled over me, and I pushed myself upright, slightly disoriented . I was still fully dressed and not entirely comfortable; then again, evening gowns, no matter how well made, were not exactly meant for napping. My head hurt, a dull, throbbing ache at my temples and my eyes felt sore and swollen. Shifting to settle my legs over the edge of the same bed I had used my first night here. As soon as my feet hit the soft carpet, everything came rushing back; the fundraising dinner, Mr. Stumps office, him turning away on the couch and then Pete holding me in the bathroom of all places, while I sobbed. The hurt was still there, sharp beneath my skin, but it wasn’t as intense, a low buzz as opposed to the full force. 

“You know what happened, I don’t need to explain.” Patrick’s voice was tinged with anger and I winced as I made my way to the door of the room, gathering my skirt up in my hands as I headed quietly to the stairs. 

“Yeah, no. I don’t know what happened. One minute you were on the couch with Charleigh, both exceedingly happy mind you, and the next she had shut herself in the bathroom and ended up sobbing in my goddamn arms until she fell asleep. Now correct me if I am wrong, Patrick, but there are a few goddamn blanks in there that need filling in. Why don’t you do so for me?” There was an underlying hardness that I had only ever heard from Pete once, and that was on the theme night with Elisa, although there wasn't nearly the anger that had been there that night. 

“Fuck, Pete. It was good, it was go fucking good. I can’t tell you how proud I am of Charleigh, she was perfect. I broke one of my own rules.” Patrick’s voice was softer, although not at all gentle and I could hear the sigh as I made my way down the stairs, pausing in the doorway. 

“Oh yes, your rules. I get them, Trick, I really fucking do, but sometimes even you have to give a little. Which one?” There was the clink of glass on glass as Pete no doubt set something on the coffee table and I rounded the corner so I could see the two men. Patrick was in pajamas, striped ones, the sleeves a little long, and his hair was disheveled as dark; he’d had a shower. Pete was beside him, still clad in nothing more than the Batman pajamas, a beer in his hand. 

“I had sex with her.” Patrick’s voice was low and he ducked his head, hair falling in front of his glasses. There was no shame there, but of small amount of fondness either, and I could see Pete’s smile, soft and knowing, from where I stood. 

“I figured that out, Asshole. That was fucking bound to happen. I’m pretty sure you are the only one who hadn’t known that since the day Saporta had you tie her up,. For fucks sake. Now, I’ve had sex with you, I know it does absolutely NOT lead to bathroom tears. Stop pussyfooting around like a little bitch and tell me what the fuck you did.” There was no nonsense to Pete’s tone, and he ended his statement by lifting a beer bottle to his lips and taking a long pull. “You can come in, Sweetheart, I promise.” He hadn’t even looked back at me but I nodded nonetheless, and Patrick’s eyes widened behind his glasses as he met my eyes. There was so much swirling in their depths that I couldn’t even begin to process.

There was nothing but the quiet music from the record player as I made my way to the chair that sat by the window, drawing my legs up and resting my chin on my knees. 

“Charleigh, I-” 

“Nope. You don’t get to apologize yet, Trick. Finish telling your story, cause I am willing to bet she is exactly as confused as I am, if not more so. Now fucking talk.” Pete didn’t hold anything back as he spoke, his knowing gaze darting back and forth between Patrick and me. 

Patrick, for his part, looked slightly stricken, vulnerable in a way I could never have imagined, and almost ridiculously young as he sighed. “The sex was a rule, but not the main one. I’m- jesus christ, I sound like a goddamn asshole saying this out loud.”

“Because you are a bit of an asshole sometimes, now continue.” There was something so matter of fact about the words, and the causal delivery from Pete that had my lips just barely twitching into a smirk. 

“You’re an asshole, Wentz.” Although muttered, there was no real vehemence in the words and Pate shrugged, his head bobbing in an easy nod. 

“I am, this isn’t a surprise. But I also don’t have a face like a baby angel so people expect that from me. Stop side stepping and talk.” Pete shrugged as he pushed himself up, snagging the bottle of water from the table and walking it over to me with a gentle smile. “It’ll help.” 

I smiled in thanks, twisting the cap and taking a sip of the water. It was cool and crisp, soothing my aching throat. 

“Jesus. Things were fine, wonderful even, but I think I may have sent some mixed messages, I’m sorry, Angel., I really am.” There was a quiet pleading to Patrick’s voice and I struggled to speak. 

“It’s okay, I made an assumption and didn’t stop to th-”

“No, I’m sorry, Sweetheart, but no. You don’t have dick all to apologize for.” Pete was gentle and he rested a hand on my head. “Nothing. I’m pretty sure where this is going, and I know for a fact you didn’t do anything wrong.” 

“You didn’t Charleigh, really. You were fucking- you were perfect.” Patrick twisted in his spot to face me, the pride evident on his face even as his voice was tinged with something I couldn’t place. “I just- I don’t- fuck.” 

“What this emotionally constipated asshole is trying to say, Sweetheart, is that he is fucking terrified of getting close to people, especially ones he cares about.” 

“Really, Pete?” Patrick’s cheeks had gone pink and he winced slightly. 

“Really. I know you well enough to say that shit. Sorry for the candor, Sweetheart, but it’s true. Now, judging by that reaction, I can tell you what happened next. Tell me if I’m wrong, Rick.” Pete plopped down by my feet as he spoke. “I left to get champagne, you two were still on the couch, happy and fucking pretty as can be. Now, I know what I would have done in the same situation, and that was lean in just a bit for a kiss. Because that is what anyone in their right fucking mind does after what was no doubt an amazing, emotional and orgasmic evening.” The matter of fact tone evened out the potential for any hurt that could have come from the words, and Patrick looked down, shifting in his seat. 

“I don’t- I haven’t kissed anyone other than Pete in almost a decade. It’s just-” There was something approaching hesitation in Patrick’s words, and he kept his head down, even as the tops of his ears grew pink. 

“That’s bullshit and you know it, Patrick Martin Vaughn Stump. Sheer, fucking bullshit. “ Pete’s voice was firm, but he kept his head against the arm of my chair. “You got fucked over, that is a given. But guess the fuck what, cupcake? Charleigh isn’t Madeline. And she sure a shit isn’t Elisa. Sorry, Sweetheart, it’s true.” The words were delivered with a half smile as Pete pushed himself up from the floor, dropping a kiss to my head before he headed back to the couch, tugging an obviously flustered Patrick into his arms. “You’re fucking allowed to care, and have people care about you, you know. And that pretty girl right over there absolutely does.” Pete winked over the top of Patrick’s head and the smaller man seemed to sink into him. 

“He’s right.” My words were quiet and shifted, stretching my legs out and standing before almost hesitantly settling on the couch on the other side of Patrick. “I don’t know what happened, but I do care. I won’t pretend to know what what happened but you mean a lot to me, more than I can say.” The words seemed almost ineffective at conveying what I actually wanted to say, but they were the only ones that seemed to work at the moment. 

Patrick pulled from Pete’s arms, with a small, soft smile, and gently lifted my hand, pressing yet another gentle kiss to the inside of my wrist, his lips warm, and his gaze never leaving mine. “Thank you, Angel, I’m fairly certain I don’t deserve you.” 

“You absolutely don’t, Patrick.” Pete laughed lightly as he spoke, wiggling to rest his head in Patrick’s lap. “I’m pretty sure that some explanation may help at this point in time though, and if you don’t tell the story, I will and I am not nearly as nice.” 

A heavy sigh and shake of his head was Patrick’s reply to Pete’s cleverly phrased demand. “Fine. But I need food first, and I can almost guarantee Charleigh would like to change.” 

“That would actually be wonderful.” The words weren’t even out of my mouth before Pete had hopped up, giving my hand a gentle tug and pulling me towards the stairs. 

“Trick, snacks and drinks. And alcohol, cause it will be needed. I’ve got Sweetheart.” There wasn’t even time to question before I was being escorted up the stairs to the master bedroom by Pete, who was humming under his breath and nearly bouncing into the closet. “So, I promise this won’t be easy, but it will probably answer a whole lot of questions.” 

Pete emerged a moment later, offering me the clothes in his hand. I took them with a smile and turned as his fingers slipped over my back, trailing along my exposed skin as he unzipped my gown, dropping a kiss to the nape of my neck before sliding the dress over my shoulders and to the floor. “You’re kind of ridiculously beautiful, you know that right? And I’m not just talking about the physical.” The words were quiet in the dark room and I shook my head as I stepped into the pajama pants, the cotton worn and so faded I could barely make out the dragons that covered them. The shirt was nearly as soft, the black cotton worn and dull with washing and wear, the writing nearly illegible as I tugged it over my head and pulled my hair out from the collar. 

“Thank you, Pete. I want to argue with you but I am far too tired. So thank you, for everything.” My smile was soft as I stepped back into Pete’s embrace and let myself be enveloped by him, his skin warm beneath my cheek and his arms tight around me. 

“My pleasure, Sweetheart, really. Now this is probably going to get a bit heavy but it’s things that you will be better for knowing. I’m not sure where things are going or how they are going to end up but I know you’re special. You wouldn’t be here if you weren’t.” Pete leaned down and pressed a sweet, chaste kiss to my lips with a lopsided grin.” Now, let’s go down and get settled before Trick bitches about us taking his spot.” He was out the door and down the stairs before I could even start to follow. 

“Goddamnit, Pete that is my fucking spot!” Patrick’s voice drifted up the stairs, exasperated and yet loving, and I couldn’t help but smile in spite of the nerves that seemed to be pooling in my stomach as I started to make my way back down to the living room, the laughter that rang out soothing in a way I couldn’t explain, but was still grateful for with every fibre of my being.


	25. Chapter Twenty Five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there is exposition and a ridiculous amount of nerves.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I.. am nervous about this on, y'all. This is SUPER dialogue heavy and that is not always my strong suit, but I hope it came across okay. 
> 
> If you wanted to help alleviate my nerves, a comment, kudos or even just shooting the shit over at AllKindsOfPlatinumAndPercocet on Tumblr would go farther to help than you know. Seriously. I would LOVE to know what y'all think of this ridiculous little tale. 
> 
> As always, this has not been betad and all mistakes are mine and mine alone. I am taking them home. 
> 
> This was started in honor of Flames_And_Jade's birthday and is for her. Thanks for being alive, you amazing human. 
> 
> Endless thanks and cups of tea to SnitchesAndTalkers for listening to my endless babble every. single. day. 
> 
> I am sending Laudanum_Cafe all of the oreo cheesecake for being a general badass. And also for letting me ruin her day. Whoops. 
> 
> Thank you to everyone who has taken the time out of their busy lives to read this story, I can not even begin to tell you how much that means to me. 
> 
> If you haven't read these amazing author's work, open a new tab and do so, please. And don't forget to leave them some love. I promise, this story isn't going to go anywhere. 
> 
> Aural Satisfaction this chapter is 'Turn To Stone' by Ingrid Michaelson

Settling down on the couch, I went to cross my legs beneath me when Patrick gave his head a shake and patted his lap gently, Pete mirroring the movement as he deposited his beer on the coffee table amidst the bottles of water, two packs of Red Vines and a bowl of popcorn that littered the surface. I couldn’t deny either of them, and frankly I didn’t want to, despite the events of the evening. 

Resting my head on Patrick’s thigh, I stretch my feet to sit on Pete’s lap and smile just a bit at the gentle touch to my bare ankle at the same time familiar fingers carded through my hair. 

“Alright, so Pete kind of not so eloquently mentioned my rules. They go back a good decade now, and I think I owe you an explanation.” Patrick’s voice was hesitant as he spoke, as though he were weighing every word carefully. 

“You absolutely owe her an explanation, there is no think about it.” The interjection was muttered between the crunch of popcorn and I could hear the smile in Pete’s voice. 

“Really? Are you going to narrate the entire damn story?” 

“Only if you miss any of the important details. We have to paint the full picture, after all.” The banter was whip smart, honed over decades of friendship, and there was something immensely comforting about it. 

“Where would I be if I didn’t have you, Pete?” Patrick’s voice was dry, although there was so much fondness in it that the tone was canceled out. 

“Wallowing in misery, probably? Most likely still in Chicago.” The hand in my hair faltered just the slightest bit and I heard Patrick sigh. 

“Thanks for that reminder, Pete, cause we weren’t going to get there anyway. I’m not- where in the hell do I Start?” Patrick spoke aloud, but the question seemed more rhetorical than anything, and Pete didn’t reply, his thumb rubbing over my ankle. “I guess at the beginning, I suppose.” 

“A wonderful place to start.” The reply was sing-song and I felt the shifting of the couch cushions and the thwap of a hand on the back of a head followed by Pete’s braying laughter. 

“Sorry, Angel. So, my rules they didn’t start when I started in this life, although they meshed very well with it, until now, anyway, and with only one exception.” Strong fingers kept a soothing, steady pull through my hair as Patrick spoke, 

“I am the only exception.” Pete piped in happily, as though that was not obvious to everyone including Helen Keller. 

“Yes, Pete, You are the only exception. Now, can I please finish or are you going to narrate every aspect of my story?” Patrick’s tone flirted with annoyance, but it was almost comfortingly familiar. 

“I promise I will narrate as little as possible. Maybe. You know I have opinions, but it is only because I love you.” The words were so matter-of-fact and sweet that I couldn’t help my smile. 

“I know you do, Pete. Now, if I may?” I twisted my head to glance at Pete out of the corner of my eye, my head not leaving Patrick's lap, and he shot me a wink before giving my ankle a gentle squeeze. “Thank you. Alright, so. I’ve known Pete since we were kids, literally. We met when I was in kindergarden and it all went downhill from there. Things were always kind of intense, I suppose, but we never thought anything of it, because that was just literally how we were together, you know? And then Madeline came into the picture.”

“Fucking bitch.” The vehemence in Pete’s voice was startling, such a departure from how he had been just a moment prior that it sent my head spinning. 

“In case he left any doubt, Pete is not a fan of Madeline’s.” There was a soft chuckle underscoring Patrick’s words, and I could head the smile in his voice as he continued. “Madeline was gorgeous, or at least my sixteen year old self thought so. That same self that was pudgy, badly dressed and in dire need of a haircut, might I add.”

“Trick, you made squishy nerd look really fucking good.”

“You are biased and always have been, Pete, thank you. Now, as I was saying before I was so rudely interrupted, Madeline was basically a walking wet dream. And for some unknown reason, she liked me.”

“She liked you because you are fucking amazing. I may hate her, but she had good taste.” 

“Thank you, Pete. Well, she and I were together for well over two years, it was a whirlwind high school romance, as all the best ones are. Well, we were probably not as stable as I had thought, or wanted us to be and she ended up leaving me. I’m fairly certain her parents played pretty heavily in that decision.” 

“Her goddamn parents are the only people worse than her. Trust me.” 

“Yes, well, that is something Charleigh knows a thing or two about. Madeline was, well I guess still is, a Duchossois.” The name was uttered with more than a bit of spite and I narrowed my eyes trying to place it. 

“Wait, as in Congressman Duchossois? Illinois republican, fond of tacky ties, golfing and expensive trophy girlfriends that we are supposed to pretend not to see the same way his wife does? “ Once I put the pieces together, things about Madeline started to make a whole lot more sense. 

“One and the same, Angel. So, you have first hand experience in what things were like. But Madeline, well… she never was able to defy her parents. To say the congressman didn’t approve of me was an understatement.” 

“Yeah, and somehow, they approved of me even less which is fucking amusing as shit cause they know my family very well.” Pete’s easy declaration had me wrinkling my nose in confusion, but I filed it for asking later. 

“ I was all of eighteen and doing everything I could to try and get her to stay; candlelight dinners, gifts, even a romantic weekend away. Well, Madeline and I were not nearly as careful as we thought we were at the end. The week after my birthday, she left me. The month after, she told me she was pregnant.” There was a note of sorrow in Patrick’s voice and I couldn’t help but give his thigh a light squeeze. “By that time I hadn’t moved on, not really, but Pete and I had something, although at that point in time I had no clue what it was. We were not discrete, and the good Congressman made sure to throw his weight around as much as he could. I didn’t see Madeline for the entire pregnancy, that was assured. She just kind of vanished, she wasn’t at graduation, never seemed to be home when I tried to stop by her house… Hell, I only knew that she was in labor because one of my friends happened to be at the hospital when she went in. “ There was a waver in Patrick’s voice that I had never heard before and it made my breath catch in my throat. 

“That whole fucking family are a bunch of fucking assholes, not a single good person in the lot of them. Money and appearances are all that matters, fuck feelings. “ The bitterness in Pete’s voice was stinging and I simply nodded, knowing far well what he meant. 

“Well, I’m sure Bronte is the exception.” Patrick couldn’t hide the sadness behind the statement and I tilted my head into his hand, a silent gesture of support that was rewarded with the gentle rub of fingers along my scalp. 

“You know how we would know that? If you had ever actually met your child and not just seen pictures and sent presents and money. That is bullshit, Patrick, and you know it.” Pete was angry, and not an old anger that had time to mellow; the pain in his voice was evident and expansive. “You deserve to know her.”

“Peter. Enough.” The tone was one I had heard exactly once before and it sent a chill down my spine; but not because I was scared, not for a moment. I was sad; my heart ached for Patrick and I couldn’t fathom his loss. “I kind of… closed off to everyone after that, I guess. Except for Pete. I went off the rails for a bit and finally ended up stumbling, quite literally, into this life. It kind of straightened me out, I guess. Pete followed, eventually, because he always was like a damn puppy.” There was a slyness to the words, and I shifted to look up at Patrick, finding a small, sweet smile on his face, directed at the man on the other end of the couch. Pete, for his part, had seemed to soften almost, his face losing the anger that it had held earlier and his fingers brushing over the silver cuff that was always on his wrist. 

“A that you couldn’t bring yourself to give up.”

“Not even if I wanted to, and believe me, I have, You’re an impertinent brat half the time.” 

“And you are a pissy bitch, but we work.” 

Despite the names, both men’s voices were thick with emotion, an unspoken sweetness permeating the words. “Well, yes. Now, I think we may have gotten a bit off track, sorry Angel.” Patrick’s fingers slipped over my cheek and I turned into the touch, my smile gentle. 

“It’s okay. I’m not in a hurry to get anywhere.” It was true. The Vegas lights glittered outside the windows against the pitch black of the night; I had no idea what time it was, but I had nowhere else I wanted to be. 

“Thank you for that. So, after Madeline I promised myself that I wouldn’t let anyone get close again, not like she was. Pete, as you know, was the only exception. He was the first sub I trained and the only one I have ever collared.” The statement was so simple that I couldn’t believe that I hadn’t put the pieces together before then. 

“The bracelet?” It was a statement more than a question, and I saw Pete smile as Patrick brushed his fingers over the gleaming metal. 

“Yes. Even though we technically don’t have that relationship anymore, it is still… well, he’s My Pete. I think he always will be.” The words were little more than a whisper and I watched as Pete and Patrick simply looked at each other, decades of history passing in a single glance. 

“And you’re My Patrick. “ The sweetness was back in Pete’s voice, a fondness and softness that was reserved for Patrick alone, and it was a beautiful thing to witness, intimate and tender. 

“Always have been.” Patrick’s fingers slipped from my hair to rest on the gleaming piece of jewelry on Pete’s wrist. “You set a high goddamn standard that is for sure.”

“No, Trick, you set a high standard, and not just for the subs you have taken on. You hold yourself to a different set of morals. Which is why Madeline is still allowed to keep your daughter from you, why you have only seen your little girl one time in her entire life. It’s why Elisa hates me and was so fucking desperate for you to train her that she literally begged you. It’s why you won’t let fucking anyone get close to you, even though they should. Those morals, while they are the reason you are so fucking good at what you do, can also harm. And not just you, Patrick.” Pete’s voice was strong but gentle at the same time, nothing but care in his tone despite the heavy words, one in particular, and I saw Patrick stiffen just slightly. 

Harm, not hurt. The distinction may have been almost indistinguishable to anyone who had not set foot in the world that Flame inhabited, but to those that had it was an entirely different story. 

“Pete, you know I wouldn’t ever-”

“No, I don’t need an apology here, Patrick, not from you, not ever. I know how you work and I love you for that. You owe Charleigh one though. Everyone has baggage, Trick, but it isn’t fair to throw it at someone without at least some kind of warning. Especially in our world.” There was the softest hint of a smile as Pete spoke, and he tilted his head down gesturing at me. 

 

Patrick gave a quiet sigh and rested his hand on my cheek, gazing down at me for a moment, his eyes clear behind his glasses. When his hand rested on my cheek, I turned into the touch, closing my eyes at the tenderness of the gesture. 

“I’m sorry Angel, I truly am. If I could change things…” The sentence trailed off as Patrick’s thumb, once again, brushed over my lips, beinging both an uncanny sense of deja vu and a comfort that was entirely unexpected. 

“It’s okay.” My own reply was quiet, my voice scratchy with held back emotion and a lingering hoarseness from sobbing earlier. “I’m not upset, not really, and I couldn’t begin to explain what happened but I’m so-” 

“Nope, no apologizing, Sweetheart. You didn’t do anything wrong.” Pete’s hand slid beneath the hem of my pant leg and curved over my calf, a steady, warm pressure. 

“You really didn’t Angel. I should have been there for you when you dropped and I was far too wrapped up in my own self to do that. Thank fuck for Pete.” There was the barest hint of a laugh with the last words, and I glanced over to see Pete smiling gently as he gave my leg a small squeeze. “It won’t happen again, I promise you that.” Patrick slid his hand down my forearm, gently lifting my hand to his lips and pressing a kiss to the inside of my wrist. “I promise.”


	26. Chapter Twenty Six

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time to travel, kids. Fasten your seat belts, make sure your tray tables are in the upright and locked position and turn off all electronic devices.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a little bitty glimpse for the start here... There will be more later, but I couldn't combine the two so... you get a little tease. 
> 
> I warn you, I wax a bit poetic about Boston here, and I am not sorry. If you want to join me, say hey on Tumblr, I love reminiscing! Or you could just hit comment and kudos here too, that would make me super happy too. 
> 
> As usual, this is not betaed. All mistakes are my own and I am keeping them. That sharing thing was never really my strong suit. 
> 
> As always, this is for Flames_And_Jade because she deserves celebration.
> 
> Thank you and endless cups of tea to SnitchesAndTalkers for being a sounding board, supporter and in many cases, an enabler. I adore you. 
> 
> Laudanum_Cafe made my day time and again with her wit and all around amazingness. You are glorious. 
> 
> To everyone who takes the time out of their lives to read this, thank you. It means so much more to me than I can say. \
> 
>  
> 
> Aural Satisfaction this chapter is 'What Ever Happened?' by The Strokes Because it is just a good tune.

I loved flying, I always had. Traveling had always been one of the few constants in my life, right up there with political functions and ballet. It was just what happened. Boston to DC was my most common trip growing up, although Boston to Atlanta was a close second. Once I got a little bit older, I started traveling on my terms, for reasons I wanted as opposed to what was being dictated. Trips with my parents turned into trips for ballet. Los Angeles, Paris, St. Petersburg… Those were the trips that I remembered, the ones that I grew to hold dear. The last flight I took out of Logan was to Vegas and I hadn’t been back since. Not until a few days ago. 

The call from my mother barely two weeks after they left not only interrupted my evening but any other plans that I may have made. To say I was requested to return to Boston was an understatement. My father had plans and a big announcement and my attendance for the proceedings was mandatory. It was not simply demanded but expected. I couldn’t argue, not on this point, and I didn’t, although the thought had occurred to me. I knew what the trip would hold from the moment I stepped out of the doors of the airport. I was unprepared for the chill despite a lifetime spent living in it, and I tugged my coat over my face as best as I could as I hauled my luggage into the waiting town car. 

My itinerary had been e-mailed to me as I packed and it was quite literally full. Event after event, a copy of my parents complete with clothing notes from my mother because of course. As it turns out, having your father announce his candidacy for Governor is a bit of a big deal. I wanted nothing to do with it but what I wanted was not important, not now. I did however, in exchange for coming back to the city at all, insist on two things. The first was that I would NOT be staying at the house. Seeing my parents daily for nearly two weeks was enough after the freedom I had become accustomed to, living with them was non-negotiable. I needed space. The second was a bit more of a fortuitous event, and one that I actually made the trip worthwhile. 

The Boston Ballet had a yearly fundraising gala and this year it was taking place during my stay. It had been a few years since I had been able to attend and, as a former soloist, it was expected. At least that was my argument to my mother. She agreed, however reluctantly, and decided that she and my father would attend as well. Of course. 

The days leading up to the gala dragged by in a seemingly endless series of press conferences, fundraising events and photo opportunities. Each one was carefully organized and coordinated, and not just in the political planning department. Every aspect of the trip, and the demand of my presence, was clear to me as soon as the first flash bulb went off at my father’s announcement; my mother and I both smiling at his side, although mine was far from genuine. It was the same story that we had been selling for years. I wasn’t a daughter so much as an accessory, the same as it had always been. And I went along with it because there was no choice, not at this point, and I really had no desire to fight it at this point. Any battles started now would be nothing but petty and those were not ones I was willing to pick. 

I loved my parents, I truly did, I just didn’t like them. I was thankful for all they had given me, because I knew what a privileged life I led, but at the same time, I despised what had gotten me there. Poor little rich girl. I smiled during every picture and waved at my father’s adoring if, in my opinion, HIGHLY misguided constituency, and attended each function without complaint. Ballerina Barbie at her best. It worked, as per usual. We all have our roles that we play, whether we want to or not. In this part of the country, this was mine. 

The soundbites and blinding flashbulbs were worth it, however, once the day of the gala dawned, crisp and clear. I took advantage of the whether as I bundled up in a pair of seldom worn jeans and a breton stripe shirt beneath my favorite coat and headed out early for a cup of coffee and some people watching before I went shopping. If I had to do something I detested, and shopping was on that list, I was at least going to enjoy myself first. 

The air was chilled and the last of the leaves clung to the trees that lined Boston Common and I held my coffee tightly as I wandered along the paths. My only concession to the recent headlines my father made was a pair of dark sunglasses which I would have worn anyway; the sun was ridiculously bright. I had missed the city, as much as it nearly pained me to admit it. Not necessarily the people, or my family, but the history of it, so very different from Vegas. Everywhere you looked in Boston there was history, the city was steeped in it and built upon i. That was what I loved about my hometown, and one of the things that I missed most in Vegas. Then again, there was an anonymity that I had in Vegas which would never happen here, a fact that was evident even now. I could feel people’s eyes on me as I walked and I returned the smiles and waves because well, it was the right thing to do. As much as I may not have loved my life here, it was part of who I was and I accepted that. I was not a politician, nor would I ever be, but I still liked to make people happy and something as small as a smile could make someone’s day. Who was I to deny anyone that? 

Neiman Marcus was nearly a mile from the hotel and I walked it quickly. There was absolutely no need for a cab or even the T in this situation. I had grown accustomed to walking in Vegas, and quite enjoyed it, using the time to clear my head despite the hustle and bustle around me and this morning, despite being across the country, I did the same. 

I arrived at the department store in no time at all and was not at all surprised that when I entered, I was immediately set upon by a smiling personal shopper who assured me that my mother had called and she had already begun to set some things aside. Of course. This was far from a surprise, my mother had also taken it upon herself to send some jewelry over to the hotel as well which I would be utilizing, more because my grandmother had chosen the selections than anything else. Giving the young woman a smile, I slipped my sunglasses off, snapping them carefully in their case in my purse and followed along silently. I had absolutely no intention of purchasing anything that my mother had chosen but I would at least give them a look. 

The beginning of the visit had gone exactly as I had anticipated and the assistant had done her job to a T, filling the room with an almost dizzying array of gowns in every shade of pastel imaginable, each one conforming to what I was sure was Charlene’s rigid guidelines. It was almost dizzying the amount of choices that were, essentially, variations on a theme that I had been wearing my entire life. They were all ballerina dresses, for lack of a better word. Full skirted ball gowns that would make any Disney princess jealous. And there was no doubt that they were beautiful but I needed something a bit different. Running my hand along the bejeweled bodice of a frothy, pale green gown, I turned my attention to the personal shopper who was carefully arranging yet another ballgown. “I know what guidelines you were given but I’d like to go a bit outside them, if you don’t mind? “ The girl, whose nametag read Nia, very nearly bounced in excitement, her blue eyes going wide. 

“I thought you’d never ask, Miss Gabriel. I have the perfect dress. I mean, these are lovely but a bit… well, much. Wait here!” I laughed as the girl disappeared out of the room and I swear I saw a trail of smoke behind her. It was exciting to see someone who seemed to genuinely enjoy what they did, especially after so many days with my parents and their cohorts, that it was almost a relief. 

I let my mind wander while Nia was picking out whatever dress she wanted and thought back to Vegas for just a moment, indulging in a few of my more fond memories. It had been weeks since I’d been to Flame and I had no doubt that that fact was contributing to my state of mind. My cheeks colored slightly at the images that flashed through my mind and I nearly jumped when Nia returned, the aforementioned perfect dress in her arms. 

“I don’t know what you were just thinking about, Miss Gabriel, but I’d be lying if I said I didn’t want to.” Her laughter is infectious and warm, and I can’t help but join in. 

“Believe me, Nia, you would never believe me if I told you. So, let’s see this dress.”

 

Staring out the window of the town car five hours later, I had to give Nia credit. The dress was perfect. A deep, rich navy silk, it was held up by two delicate straps that left my back almost completely bare. The neckline was far from jaw dropping, but was also unlike anything else that I’d ever worn. It fit like a glove, despite the length, but that was easily rectified by a pair of stunning heels. I’d eschewed my mother’s offer of her hairstylist and did my own, choosing simple, loose curls, pulled half up and pinned in place by an adapted broach that had been in the selection of jewelry that had been sent over. My make-up, again free of my mother’s influence, was just heavy enough to do the job, smoky eyes and a berry gloss. I felt like myself for the first time since I had left the Vegas, as opposed to the doll that I seemed to be made into and it was almost frightening. The car rolled to a stop in front of the venue and I tipped the driver, flashing a bright and genuine smile before stepping out to be greeted by the familiar glare of flashbulbs. I froze for an instant until I remembered where I was and why. I chose to be here, I wasn’t made to be. With those simple thoughts, I stood up just a little bit taller, and headed towards the entrance.


	27. Chapter Twenty Seven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You see her, you can't touch her....

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the nerves are back! Hello, how I have missed them. EXCEPT NOT REALLY AT ALL. 
> 
> You can help with that, just click on one of the little buttons below and let me know what you think of this ridiculously long tale. For real. Or find me at AllKindsOfPlatinumAndPercocet on tumblr. I'll talk about cats and food, And probably share teasers of upcoming chapters because I am weak. 
> 
> All mistakes are mine... although some may belong to the cat this round, he ran across my keyboard. 
> 
> As always, this is for Flames_And_Jade for being born, and for being amazing.
> 
> SnitchesAndTalkers brings me ALL THE JOY with her lovely self and brilliant mind. THANK YOU.
> 
> And Laudanum_Cafe made me laugh like Pete Wentz on nitrous so... THAT IS A HUGE THING THANK YOU.
> 
> And to everyone who takes time form their day to look at my rearrangement of the alphabet, thank you. 
> 
> Aural Satisfaction for this chapter is 'Auf Achse' by Franz Ferdinand

I sat in silence, watching the skyline of the city that I loved so much pass by, the lights on the cables of The Zakim Bridge glowing brightly in the distance. It was truly beautiful and, as much as it shared so many similarities with Vegas, the differences were just as stark. The weather was, as was typical for this time of year, cold. Far colder than I remembered it being but, then again, that may have had something to do with the less than hospitable atmosphere in the limo that I currently shared with my parents. Of course that was no surprise at all; I had been anticipating this since I had checked into my suite on Boston Common as opposed to accepting the invitation to stay at the house. I just couldn’t deal with them that much, not now anyway. 

My mother, her southern accent prominent as always, was prattling away in the seat across from me, although what she was saying was simply not registering. I was far more interested in watching the world pass by than I was in hearing yet another lecture about everything that I had done wrong. I wasn’t stupid, not in the slightest. Quite the opposite, really. I knew the upset that my ensemble was going to cause from the moment I stepped out, and that knowledge had kept a smile on my face for the majority of the night. But that was not meant to last, of course. Although the happy facade was kept up for the cameras, it had dropped as soon as we all settled in the limo. That had been almost a half an hour ago and at least four ‘Do you know how this looks?’ from my mother, although I was far from giving her my full attention.

I loved my parents, I truly did, they were my family but there were times that they seemed to forget that I was an actual adult instead of a barbie that they got to dress up and trot out for family photos. It never ceased to amaze me. “Charleigh James! Are you even listening?” My mother, in all of her infinite knowledge, seemed somehow to not have noticed that listening was the last thing that I was doing. 

Fighting a sigh, I tucked my hair behind my ears and turned my attention to the ridiculously irate woman seated across from me. It was actually quite an amusing scene but I was able to hide my laughter, which was the one thing that may have saved me from a rather unsavory dressing down. “ Honestly, Mother? No, I’m not listening. But I heard you, your point was made loud and clear. And repeatedly. I’m sorry if I upset you.” The words, while true, were forced as my gaze darted between my parents. I was suddenly exhausted. Yes, I’d only been here for a week but it took everything in me to live up to the expectations that had been set, even if they weren’t really any higher than those in the past. I was just exhausted and on edge which was quite an unsavory combination, especially at the moment. My eyes stung slightly with tears as my mother started another of her diatribes and I just couldn’t listen to it, not for another moment. 

Thankfully, the limo slowed to a stop in front of the hotel awning and I grabbed my purse and slipped out without so much as a word, closing the door much more lightly than I wanted to. That fallout would be something that I couldn’t hide from but it could, at the very least, wait a day. I kept my head down as I entered the hotel, as much to shield my face from the wind as to avoid eye contact with the black suited doormen and the concierge. My heels clicked on the marble floors as I headed directly to the elevator which, by some unholy coincidence was already waiting. 

The doors closed and I finally looked up, catching a fractured, slightly blurred glimpse of my reflection in the mirror like surface. There was nothing unseemly about it, in any way, but unfortunately, my opinion on the subject of appropriate and that of my parents didn’t exactly mesh well. Exhaling heavily, I waited for the elevator to finally slow to a stop at the eleventh floor and I nearly dashed out, desperate for the quiet solace of my suite. Slipping the keycard in the lock, I found myself homesick suddenly, although I couldn’t be sure why, not exactly. Retrieving my phone from my purse, I swiped a few screens and music flowed through the cleverly hidden speakers as I settled on one of the couches. I needed something I just couldn’t put my finger on exactly what, not at the moment. My hands, however, obviously had different ideas as I quickly scrolled through my contacts and sent a single, one word text before I had a moment to think, the letters glowing in the near dark. ‘Sir?’ 

 

II wasn’t exactly antsy as I awaited the reply but I wasn’t still either. My knee was shaking beneath the layers of navy silk-chiffon of my dress, the heel of my shoe clicking in time with the music that flowed through the speakers. My hands, as was becoming quite common, were twisting in the ends of my hair, pulling absently at the loose curls that brushed over my shoulders. It was ridiculous, really, and I was well aware of it. 

The light in the suite were still dim although the shades were open allowing the residual light from the park lights and the city beyond to shine in. It was peaceful in a very strange way and I pushed off the couch to head to the window, my foot lightly catching the ridiculous binocular stand that sat before the plate glass. With my phone in my free hand, I pressed the other against the cool glass, my forehead following as I gazed out over the city I had called home for my entire life, singing slightly off key under my breath. The chiming of my phone caught my attention and, in my haste to read the message, I nearly dropped it. Fortunately, after some fumbling, I swiped open the message. ‘Angel?’ My smile was almost instant as I read the nickname. Even in writing it had an effect on me, and I felt calmer, although just slightly, immediately. My fingers raced over the screen as I typed out a quick reply. ‘Good evening, Sir, I do hope you are well. I apologize if I am interrupting you at all.’ I tugged my lower lip between my teeth as I sent the brief message, slightly nervous as the message transmitted, though I couldn’t put my finger on exactly why.

 

Holding the phone tightly in my hand as I awaited a reply, I wandered aimlessly around the suite; from sitting area to office and finally the master bedroom where I fell back on the plush bed and sighed as I sank slightly into the layers of down and memory foam, my silver sandal clad feet still hanging over the edge, and closed my eyes. The phone chirping a reply pulled me back to the present and I glanced at the screen. ‘You could never impose, Angel. And my evening is well, I’m just watching something filled with mindless explosions. Mr. Wentz says hello.’ Smiling, I quickly replied, my politeness almost seeming overwhelming, but the respect behind it evident. ‘Thank you very kindly, Sir. It has been quite an evening. I do hope yours is well.’ Sending the brief message, I push myself upright and tug the antique broach that was fixed with pins and held half of my hair back out and run my fingers through the curls, setting the jewelry on the bedside table.

Mid way through untangling my hair, the phone chimed. ‘Can you talk, Charleigh? I’ll be honest, I really don’t like the sound of that.’ It took me only a moment before answering, although my hands trembled slightly as I swiped at the screen. ‘Of course, Sir. I could call or skype, if you are available. Whichever works better for you.’ I read the message a full three times before hitting send and then watching intently until the phone confirmed it was delivered. Dropping my phone to the bed, my gaze drifted to the laptop on the bureau and II fell back again with a huff at myself. I was ridiculous and I knew it. Wiggling my toes inside my shoes, I considered taking them off but I couldn’t be bothered and, instead, simply lazed about on the bed as I waited with baited breath for the next reply.

 

I swallowed thickly at the contact name I received as I took one my my bracelets off, and set it carefully beside the broach as I stood to retrieve my laptop. Holding the computer, I contemplated setting up in the office but the bed was simply too inviting. Brushing the jewelry aside, I quickly logged into Skype, my foot bouncing on the bed as I studied my hands and entered the provided username slowly to save from any typos. Once accepted, my finger hovered over the call button as the music changed songs, the sudden quiet almost deafening. My nerves were infuriating me, and I rolled my eyes at myself as I finally hit send and listened as I waited for the call to connect, biting absently on my lip.

“You look so good in blue.” The sudden voice took me off guard as it drifted through the air, and I snapped my head up, as small smile pulling at my lips despite my flushed cheeks thanks to the complement. Smoothing my hands easily over my skirt, I swing my feet lightly as I addressed the gentleman whose face currently filled my computer screen. He didn’t look different, not in the slightest, but I felt almost out of place as I glanced at my surroundings. As elegant as they were, there was something cold and slightly impersonal about them that seemed incongruent with the man on whose face filled my screen; I longed, not for the first time, to be back in the city that I had come to love. It took me a moment to gather my bearings and my voice cracked slightly as I finally found my voice. “Good evening, Sir, and thank you so much. You are too kind. I apologize if I am intruding at all.”

 

“No apologies, Sweetheart!” Mr. Wentz’s voice was buoyant as he appeared in the frame, Mr. Stump barely hiding his smile. The sight of the handsome face puts me at ease quite quickly, and I nod, my hair falling in front of my face. Blowing it out of my eyes, I finally give in and tuck it behind my ears again, returning my attention to the computer on the nightstand as I ponder the seemingly simple question. I could tell there was genuine concern in Mr. Stump’s voice and that touched me quite deeply. It was the first time I’d been asked that, with any real interest since I had boarded the plane from Vegas. “I’m fi-” My words caught in my mouth before I could finish them, the note entirely true, and completely automatic statement seeming heavy and wrong on my tongue. “It’s not, Sir, but it will be. Thank you for asking. I hope you are both well?” My voice was quiet and I kept my gaze on the laptop even as my fingers twisted in the cool fabric of my gown. It felt almost as though a weight, however light, had been lifted with the simple phrase, and I sat up just that much straighter for it as I waited for a reply.

“We are both fine, Angel, not that it matters at the moment. Now, I am going out on a ledge here, but I am going to assume that your parents have been less than pleasant?” There was an edge to his voice that flirted with both harshness and concern, although his eyes were soft behind his glasses. 

 

My laugh is quiet and dry at Mr. Stump’s blunt and entirely correct assessment. Smiling just a bit, I glance at the screen and touch a single finger to the tip of my nose. “Remind me never to play poker with you, Sir, or at all really. As much practice as I have had, I still can’t hide anything to save my life. Not from anyone that is truly looking anyway. It’s been a bit of an adventure this week to say the least and this evening has been the icing on the cake.” Brushing my hair back, I twist it absently into a loose braid simply to keep it out of my face. “And it does matter how you are, Sir, but thank you nonetheless. “

“ I’m not much of a poker player, Angel. But Mr. Wentz, on the other hand can make a killing at the tables. As for adventure, well, I can think of about sixteen different ones that will leave you looking far less tired than you do. How much longer are you in Boston?” There was genuine concern in both Mr. Stump’s face and voice as he sat back, Mr. Wentz leaning into his side. 

 

I don’t bother to hide the growing smile at the simple question, and the thoughts that it brought along with it. It seemed like it had been forever since my last appointment with Mr. Stump and my fingers itched to get back there; to find that calmness again that it seemed that only he could bring. I didn’t hesitate before speaking, my guard slipping easily. “I’m supposed to be here for another four days but I am strongly considering booking an earlier flight. As much as I like it here, in some ways, it’s not good for me right now, if that makes any sense.” I kept my gaze on the screen as I spoke, unable or unwilling to look away, I wasn’t sure which. There was something behind Mr. Stump’s eyes, even through the screen and I found myself needing to know what exactly it was. “Penny for your thoughts, Sir?”

“It makes all the sense in the world, really. “ His smile is easy as he accepts the [proffered bottle of beer from Mr. Wentz and pulled a long pull. “I’m just wondering if there is someway I could help.” 

I almost felt as though I was being called out with the words, in the most polite way possible. Heat raced up my chest to spread across my cheeks and I dropped my head almost instinctively, peeking up at the screen only once I was able to swallow past the lump in my throat. “ I’ve been far busier than I would have liked of late, Sir. “The words came out slightly stilted, my throat dry, as I spoke, my mind reeling with possibilities for the latter portion of the question. I was tired, exhausted really, with keeping up the pretense that came with, well, everything involved with being back here. As I met Mr. Stump’s gaze, even through the screen I knew that I couldn’t speak anything but the truth, not even if I wanted otherwise. “I’m tired, Sir. I sound horrible saying this but I almost wish that I hadn’t come. Tonight was the only thing that I was honestly looking forward to on the entire trip and it ended in a bit of a shambles.” My laugh is quiet, the sound more than a bit bitter. “I’m sorry, Sir, I know how ridiculous I sound.” 

“You don’t sound ridiculous at all, Charleigh, just stretched maybe a bit too thin.” Mr. Stump’s gaze was intense and there was the slightest quirk of his lips as he spoke again. “How much do you trust me, Angel?”

“With my life, Sir.” The answer was automatic and held absolutely no room for doubt. Mr. Stump’s words danced around in my head and, even though I shouldn’t have, I found more comfort in them than I had in very nearly anything else of late. “And thank you for that, Sir, very much. I feel a bit silly sometimes, complaining about such non-existent problems.” My fingers twisted back in my skirt as I exhaled a deep breath, returning my attention to the computer screen. “You know, I’ve trusted you more since the moment we met than I have anyone else in… well, almost ever, Sir. Thank you for that.”

“That is quite the privilege, Charleigh, and I am absolutely honored that you give me that so freely.” His voice was heavy with emotion, honest and real. Mr. Wentz, although he didn’t say anything, smiled brightly beside him, bright as yellow. “I was wondering if I could come up with someway to help you perhaps blow off some of that pent up frustration.”

My cheeks pinked at the words and I didn’t hide the small laugh that bubbled up, the first genuine one in longer than I cared to remember. I watched Mr. Stump intently as he relaxed, my curiosity more than a bit piqued by his last statement. “You have nothing to thank me for, Sir, but I do appreciate the sentiment. As for coming up with something you don’t have to, really, although far be it from me to disagree. I appreciate it, Sir.” The last words were quiet and I dropped my gaze to my hands, my eyes focused on my fingers as they fiddled with the bracelet that remained on my wrist. It was one of my favorites, part of a set with the necklace that was still fastened tightly around my neck, and I could remember seeing my grandmother wear it many times when I was a little girl.

“Tell me, Angel, did you happen to bring any of your little toys with you?” Mr. Stump’s tone dropped just a bit as he spoke, leaning in just slightly towards the screen I knew was set up on the coffee table. 

I paused for a moment, Mr, Stump’s question circling in my mind. What did I have? I wasn’t in the habit of packing the spontaneous purchases from The Toy Box, and certainly hadn’t put anything in my suitcase. My gaze darted around the suite looking for something, anything and I had no clue what. “I’m not sure, Sir. I mean there is the shower head but I didn’t bring anything.” Even as I spoke I was reviewing the contents of my suitcases, and something occurred to me, causing me to very nearly jump off the bed. “Just a moment?” Dashing to the small office where I kept my suitcases, I flipped the larger one open and rustled about in it’s contents until I found the small clutch that I was looking for. I had thrown it in as almost an afterthought, grabbing it from where it had laid, untouched, since the last evening of Mr. Stump’s phone call challenge. Just the thought had my cheeks warming with remembrance, and I flipped open the small bag, peeking inside to see exactly what I was looking for, the trio of small, white devices standing out starkly against the black satin lining of the bag. Retrieving them in one hand, I hung the clutch on the back of the desk chair and rushed back to the bedroom, perching delicately on the edge of the bed and resting the items beside me, in view of the camera “I’m sorry, Sir. They have been in the same bag since I finished cleaning them the last night of the phone call challenge, Sir. I didn’t even think about them.” 

The grin on Mr. Stump’s face was dark and captivating, his eyes bright. “Good Girl. Now, off with your gown. Everything but your shoes and jewelry, please.” 

I nod slightly, my cheeks flaming at Mr. Stump’s words, stealing a glance at the silver that peaked out from beneath the hem of my gown and made a mental note to send flowers to Neiman’s. “Yes, Sir.” *My voice was quiet and I rose while I spoke, turning my back to the camera. The gown back was low and open save for the delicate straps that held it up, and the zipper was easily manipulated down, the slack causing the straps to fall freely down to my elbows, taking the delicate bodice with it. Inhaling deeply, I gave the delicate fabric at my waist a slight push and it fell with a quiet whoosh into a pool at my feet. I stood still for a moment, the artificially cool air pumping in from overhead, my back still to the camera. Being naked was not a concern at the moment, not really, but my nerves were still on edge from the events of the last few weeks and it took me a brief time before I could turn towards the camera, clad in nothing more than my shoes and somewhere in the vicinity of five thousand dollars in family jewelry. “Am I okay, Sir?”

“You’re absolutely perfect, Angel. Perfect.” There was nothing less than gentleness in Mr. Stump’s voice and I glanced up at the screen through lowered lashes at the words, my skin warming almost instantly as my hair fell in front of my face.

”Thank you, Sir.” My gratitude was truly genuine, in so many ways. I had spent a good portion of my life striving for perfection, being literally molded into it, and mostly for the benefit of others. This though, this moment, as with all of my time with Mr. Stump, was as much for me as it was for him and catching that slight gleam in his eye filled me with pride.

“You are very welcome, Charleigh, I only speak the truth. Now, pick your favorite of your toys for me.” That softness that had been present was not gone, it simply merged with something stronger, and more commanding. 

I sat up just a bit taller, my smile soft the simple direction, eyes trailing over the toys that lay on the white down comforter. “I’ve only used two of them, Sir.” Moving aside just slightly to show the toys, I slid both the bullet and the smaller of the two vibrators to the side although, from what I had seen at the shop, even the larger toy was almost tiny in comparison to some. “I haven’t tried the bigger one yet, Sir, although I am a bit fond of the one I have used.”

“Alright then, Angel, the one you have not tried it is. Lay back for me, if you would please.” 

I give a small nod, swallowing thickly as I caught Mr. Stump’s eyes even through the screen. There was something dark in them, that drew me in and I longed to be back in Vegas. “Yes, Sir.” Glancing from the computer to the bed, I repositioned the laptop quickly and took the largest toy in hand before stretching out on the bed. The cotton and down of the duvet was absolutely luxurious beneath me and a smile pulled at my lips as I relaxed into the fabric, closing my eyes for just a moment before returning my gaze to the gentleman on the laptop screen, the vibrator laying beside me as I nearly trembled with anticipation. “Is this alright?

“That is wonderful, Charleigh. Now. I know you remember our last game. I think we are going change it a bit this time. I don’t want you to stop, unless you have to. But I know that you can keep going, Angel. And I want to see how many times until you fall apart.” 

“Thank you, Sir”. My voice catches in my throat as I glance at the screen,eyes wide, remembering the last challenge clearly. That had kept me balancing on the edge for longer than I could have imagined but somehow, this seemed almost more intimidating, and vastly unlike anything I had done before. The time that I had spent in the playroom flashed through my mind clearly as I tried to count, worrying my bottom lip between my teeth before I spoke.* What if what if I can’t do it, Sir? “My voice was soft and wavering, uncertainty evident with every word. 

Mr. Stump’s smile was gentle and assuring, and I could see his fingers twitch around the bottle he held in his grasp. “If you can’t that is alright, Charleigh, I won’t push for any more than you feel you can give. One word and we are done. You could never disappoint me, Charleigh, I promise you that.” 

Tilting my head almost automatically to the side, I give a small nod, mentally cursing the screen. The words were simple and honest and, quite frankly, were some of the most encouraging that I had heard in far too long. My confidence was quite quickly bolstered, even if it was a bit shaky, and I smiled at the camera. “Thank you, Sir, so very much.” The word had lingered in the back of my head through each visit with Mr. Stump, never even beginning to be said. “I remember, Sir.” My confidence, although having taken a bit of a hit, was slowly increasing again, through Mr. Stump’s slightly misplaced, in my opinion, faith in me and I wanted nothing more than to make him not only happy but proud, to show that trust was not in error. My anticipation rising again, my hand closes around the slim toy that lay by my side, fingers carefully twisting the dial on the bottom to the lowest setting. “I think I’m ready, Sir.” 

“There’s my girl. Just lie back and enjoy yourself.” 

The words, with the slightest hint of a melodic accent, encouraged me and, despite my bright cheeks, I keep my eyes on the face in the laptop screen, my hand holding the toy skimming down lower over my abdomen with each word. The vibrations are low but still strong enough to be felt and, to my surprise, stronger still than the tiny bullet that lay discarded at the foot of the bed. Parting my legs, I let the slim wand dip between my thighs, gasping sharply as the tip of it brushed over my sensitive and already damp folds. Dipping my hand lower, I maneuver it slightly, tilting the toy upwards to graze my clit with a tiny whimper.

“Good Girl. Just let go. Let me hear you, Angel.” There was a throaty gasp to the words and I could see Mr, Wentz’s fingers trailing over Mr. Stump’s pajama clad thigh in the bottom of the frame.

“Yes, Sir.” The words slip out on a gasp as I press the device just slightly harder against my clit, swallowing as I keep my gaze on the screen. I was already warm, whether from the sensations or the knowledge of being watched, I did not know, but at the moment I didn’t care. My body was already responding, and I shifted my hips up just a bit, changing the angle that the toy hit as I dragged it down just slightly through the wetness that was building. I wasn’t ready for more, not quite, but I turned up the power just slightly, wiggling under the vibrations as I held the toy against my entrance without moving it any farther, not just yet.

I kept my gaze on the screen, focused on the gentleman whose image was centered on the monitor, studying him, for lack of a better word, for something though I wasn't sure what. My breath hitched, the sound somewhere between a whimper and a gasp, as I shifted my hand, slipping the buzzing toy just slightly inside me. It was surprising, in a sense, how easy this had become, despite the learned behaviors that had told me otherwise my entire life. I owed that freedom, such as it was, to Mr. Stump, and I knew it. I was ridiculously grateful, more so than I could even begin to say, for so much more than just this moment and all of the ones we had shared that led up to it. Swallowing thickly, I move my hips up, sliding the toy in further with a stifled moan. While it was far from large, quite the opposite actually, it was still more than I was used to of late, Mr. Stump himself being the only exception. Pulling my lip between my teeth as my body adjusted, I try and speak, my words breathy. “It’s good, Sir.” 

“Good, Angel. Very good. Now keep going until I say stop.”

As pleasurable as the sensations from the slim toy moving between my legs was, and it absolutely was, it couldn’t hold a candle to the desire that amplified at the simple words that were delivered almost quietly through the laptop. I hadn’t realized, before stepping foot into Flame the first time, the power that could be inherent in words; how seductive that they could be. I knew now, more than I could have imagined. My words caught in my throat as I struggled to reply, my body wriggling as my movements became slightly more hurried, my thumb ratcheting up the speed of the device just slightly as heat rushed through me with each push. “Yes, Sir.” I couldn’t say any more even if I wanted to and my eyes fluttered closed as I focused on simply feeling, and listening for anything from the screen, letting everything else; the city, my family, the composure that I fought so hard to maintain, even the distance to a certain extant, fall away and be replaced by nothing but pleasure that freely coursed through me. It had been some time since I had been in this position, quite literally, and my body was responding quickly the warmth and pressure building quicker than I could have thought possible.

“Just let go, Angel. Let go for me, I want to hear you.” 

There was a quiet moan from the screen but I couldn’t actually process it. Four simple words, just four, was all it took and my climax hit hard. The scream that fell from my lips was far louder than I had anticipated, ringing off the walls of the hotel room. I trembled and writhed on the ridiculously luxe bed, my hand stilling for the duration as I gave into pleasure. My head spun and my vision went white behind closed eyes as I simply felt; the vibrations from the toy persisted despite the movement ceasing, and somehow between the blood roaring in my ears and the low hum of the toy, I could hear stifled sounds from the laptop. It took a few moments before I could open my eyes, although speaking was still far off. I turned my gaze back to the screen as soon as I could, my skin red and limbs still trembling, searching for what I wasn't quite sure.

“Good Girl. Now keep going.” There was a waver in Mr. Stump’s voice and I could see Mr. Wentz’s hand working easily beneath the waistband of his pants. 

“Yes, Sir.” The words were raspy and broken with shallow breaths as I fought to steady myself just for an instant. It seemed an almost insurmountable task as I lay there flushed and trembling, but it was one that I would still give everything in me to accomplish. My attention staying on the screen, I tilted my head back to shake my hair from my eyes, my gaze never wavering. It was so difficult at times, even in person to be able to read Mr. Stump though that was probably quite the benefit in his line of work, but the knowledge provided very little comfort as I cursed the distance yet again. The quiet was short lived as I quickly flipped the dial up another two settings, the increased vibrations pulling a wanton moan from deep inside me as I quickly slid the wand back between my legs, not bothering with pretense at this point.

“You are absolutely beautiful like this, Angel. Beyond stunning.” 

“Thank you, Sir.” My response was immediate and husky and my face, if it was possible, got even redder although it must have been some kind of deeply ingrained reflex, no doubt from years of media training. Modesty is a necessity in my family’s world, in all senses. Here, however, despite being technically in that world, I was mentally three thousand miles away. The safety and comfort I felt with Mr. Stump was nothing short of complete. I would trust him with my life and, in many senses of the word, I did. His deep breath was just barely audible through the computer and I felt a tiny surge of both pride and pleasure. My head falling back on the pillows, I continued my activity with abandon, rocking my hips in time with the harder thrusts of my hand. My experimentation had been rather mild, comparatively, although the week of phone calls had provided quite a bit of practice. Mind still slightly fuzzy with ecstasy, details were sparse but there and upon finally grasping the one I was looking for, I lowered my wrist, working the toy at a different angle, the new sensations bringing near screams with them.

“Fuck” The curse what whispered through the screen and I just caught sight of Mr. Stump’s hips jerking up into Mr. Wentz’s hand as his head fell back. “Again, Angel. If you can.” 

The soft curse spurred me on more than I could have imagined possible and I quickly fell over the edge again with another scream, my body shaking and writhing with each wave of pleasure that passed through me, my screams seemingly echoing through the cold air. The quiet words held so much power in them, more than I could have ever imagined and my head spun as my vision went white and I shook with each jerky movement of my hand. It never failed to amaze me how easy it was to be truly myself with this gentleman. The entire world; all of the expectations and demands fell to the wayside and I could simply… exist, fully and completely. It was a gift that I had never known that I’d needed and one that was cherished beyond measure.  
My body was shaking as I fell back against the mattress, the slim wand falling from my fingers, the vibrations still audible despite my ragged pants as I slowed my breaths. I could still see the stars behind my eyes, although they dissipated as I opened them, my lips turning up into a small smile as I turned my head to glance back at the screen. “Thank you, Sir.” I tried to fight the waver in my voice but it was futile at this point. Shifting easily, I yelped as the movement placed the toy against the already sensitive skin of my thigh. “I just need maybe a minute?”

“Not unless you are done for the night, Angel.” The words were growled and low, but far from harsh although demanding and painted with desire.

“Yes, Sir. I’m sorry.” My voice was quiet, barely a whisper as my cheeks flame. Pushing myself up, I grab the toy and rest my back against the headboard, my hands still shaking, and return it between my legs. Keeping my eyes down, I fought to keep my breath even as I started to move my hips, the shame falling away with each quiet whimper, my head dropping back against the headboard with a soft thump.

“No apologies, Charleigh, Just keep going until you can’t-Fuck, Pete- until you can’t take it anymore.” The command was broken by a curse and I caught sight of a dark head bobbing back and forth into the bottom of the frame, pale fingers laced into tight hair.

 

“Yes, sir.”My words were whispered between pants as I gave myself over to pleasure. The quiet words bounced around my desire-addled brain and I fought to keep my focus on the task at hand, my movements transitioning from smooth and almost gentle to jerky and hard as the moments ticked by. I wanted nothing more than to please Mr. Stump, in whatever way that I could and, at the moment, this was all that I could manage. I could feel the pressure building in my lower abdomen once again, and I opened my eyes just as I started to fall, my gaze fixed on the computer screen as a cry was ripped from my throat. My focus was exclusively on the laptop despite the almost instinctive need to simply fall against the mattress and catch my breath. That, however, was not the task I had been given and, after a moment to take a gasping breath, I resumed my actions, my body still trembling from my climax as I grasp the slim toy that was still between my thighs.

“I can’t begin to explain how much I love to see you like this, Angel, falling to pieces for me.” Mr. Stump’s voice is breathy and broken, but the truth in his words is resounding.

Pulling in a ragged breath and swallowing thickly to assist with my parched throat, my hand moves slowly, fingers nudging the power button up to full strength as I listen to Mr. Stump speak. His voice is deep and the words simple but the resonate so strongly that I am nearly overcome, the sensation having nothing to do with the task at hand, as it were. “Thank you, Sir.” Forcing out the words between gasps, I wiggle and writhe with each thrust until I’m laying flat on the bed, flushed and trembling. My eyes ever stray from the screen even as I maneuver the toy with a now practiced hand. I can already feel my orgasm building, despite being so close to the last, my hips rocking up harder against the slim wand. My head is nearly spinning with sensations but I keep my eyes on the computer screen, pulling my lower lip between my teeth as I focus, fighting off my response for as long as I can. Meeting Mr. Stump’s gaze, despite the distance between us, is what finally does it and I can’t begin to hide as my body shakes and my mouth falls open in a silent scream, my back arching off the bed. It seems like forever until I collapse in a pile of trembling limbs, a strangled cry escaping my throat as tears fall of their own volition and I shake both from the cold and the immense feelings of what has just happened. My mind is still foggy and cheeks wet as I fight to find my voice. “I can’t go again, Sir. I’m sorry.” The words break with a sob, although I’m not sad nor upset; the intensity of what has just happened is still overwhelming and I search through misty eyes for any sort of sign from the man on the screen. 

His gaze was hazy and his eyes soft as they tended to be after he came, his words slightly slow, and his fingers were smoothing through the dark hair of the man whose head rested on his lap instead of pulling it. “No apologies, Angel, that was absolutely stunning. Thank you so much.”

My cheeks flush deeper red at the words and a tired smile tugs at my lips as I peek up at the screen through lowered, wet lashes. “Thank you, Sir.” The words are husky and quiet, just loud enough to be heard as I shiver in my position sprawled out on the bed, clad in nothing more than diamonds. A small squeak falls from my lips as I pull the vibrator free and flip the power off, the movements sluggish, feeling almost as though I am moving through jelly, but in the best way possible. Teeth chattering with the cold, I stretch my arms as far as I can, my fingertips barely brushing against the luxurious blanket that is thrown haphazardly over the corner of the bed and pull it up over my trembling form. “I’m not quite sure how that was just.. fuck. *I know that I sound utterly ridiculous, there is no way that I couldn’t, but that is the last thing that matters as I curl up under the soft blanket. “I wish I was there, Sir, if I may say so. “

“I wish you were here too, Angel.” Mr. Stump gives a low chuckle, his smile warm as he glances down, and shakes his head. “Mr. Wentz would like you to know he feels the same. Are you feeling better, Love?”

Smiling at the tender endearment I give a small nod, blowing back the bangs that fall into my eyes and pull the blanket up and tuck it under my chin as my limbs go limp. My mind was still a bit fuzzy but that weight, the almost stifling need for perfection that had been hanging over me since I stepped off the plane at Logan was gone as though it never existed at all. In it’s place was a simple calm that somehow only Mr. Stump could bring even from across the country. “Yes, Sir, thank you. That was, well, I’m not quite sure I have the words or the mental capacity to describe it at the moment. I’m all melty and fuzzy. “ Somewhere, in the back of my mind, a little voice chided me for being ridiculous but I brushed it off as I smiled towards the computer.

“I think, Angel, that means that we have accomplished our goal for the evening, and perhaps more if I may say as much.” His voice is teasing and warm, far more comforting than anything else in the moment and his smile is sweet. 

I give a slightly sleepy nod, not bothering to fix my unruly hair as I settle back against the pillows. Wriggling and squirming, I work my way between the sheets below the thick down comforter. My eyelids were slightly heavy as I kept my gaze on the laptop, my words unguarded. “I’m fairly certain that melty and fuzzy are states that only you can cause, Sir, thank you.” Wrinkling my nose, I slip out from my warm cocoon and flip off the nightstand lamp, leaving only the glow of the laptop and the lights from the city beyond to illuminate the room as I return to my place in bed. “I'm not sure how exactly you do it, Sir but you always seem to know what I need even when I don't.” 

“That is what I am here for, Angel, and it is a pleasure to be able to see those things in you.”

Fighting a yawn, I nod and rearrange my hair on the pillow behind me, my sleepy gaze at focused on the computer screen, wanting to stay awake as long as possible. “Maybe, Sir. Maybe. But then again, maybe not.” My words start to slur as I struggle to stay awake, my vision going blurry. “Whatever the reason, I'm thankful, Sir. You've shown me things I never dared imagine.” 

“Don’t worry your head, just go to sleep.” His laugh is the last thing I hear, warm and sweet as I slip into sleep, his words spinning around in my head.


	28. Chapter Twenty Eight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another brief interlude... i promise there will be more later.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just an itty bitty peek for now. 
> 
> Comments, kudos and questions make my day. Seriously. I do a happy dance and everything. Help a girl out?
> 
> Mistakes? Probably. No beta, so... mine
> 
> For Flames_And_Jade because she is made of win. 
> 
> Endless thanks to SnitchesAndTalkers foe listening to me prattle on for ages. She deserves a prize. 
> 
> All the love to Laudanum_cafe for enabling the filth and loving these characters like I do. 
> 
> If you haven't read their work, open up a new tab and do so. And then comment. And then come shriek with me about it. I will wait. 
> 
> Thank you to everyone that has taken the time to read this little tale, I am in awe. 
> 
> Aural Satisfaction this round is 'Buried Myself Alive' by The Used. Because goddamn. (Brownie points and cameo of your choice if you can tell me where Bert McCracken appeared in this little tale)

I was drained, in every sense of the word. Between traveling back and forth from Vegas to both Boston and DC in the last few weeks, working and attempting, however futilely, to squeeze in a bit of time in the studio there was nothing left for me to give. Walking in the front door of my apartment, I nearly collapsed against it as I kicked my shoes off. One behaved; the other not so much. My hands were full of grocery bags so it was still dark and, judging by the crash of glass that greeted me just after my shoe shot into the darkness, it would be for a while yet. 

“Goddamnit!” The curse echoed throughout my cold, quiet home and I felt tears prick at my eyes as I juggled my groceries back and forth and attempted to flip on the light. 

 

Despite the neon skyline, the overheads still had me blinking behind my glasses as I maneuvered through my living room towards the kitchen, sidestepping the shattered remnants of what was once a lamp and losing only a few apples along the journey. 

Dropping my sacks on the granite countertop, I take a moment to breathe and enjoy the silence and feeling of finally, finally being home. It had seemed like forever since I had actually slept in my own bed for more than a few hours at a time and I had the entire weekend planned. And by planned I meant doing nothing other than napping, cooking, dancing and catching up on my reading. Leaving my apartment was not even on my radar. Honestly, getting out of my pajamas was going to take something pretty special. 

The silence was not to last though, and not by my choice. ‘Sweet Caroline’ began to blast through my phone and I jumped, the device slipping through my fingers and skittering across the floor, traveling halfway across the room before sliding to a stop against the leg of a chair. Of course. Because what today had been lacking was my mother. Glaring at the phone, I let it lay there ringing as I began to put away my groceries, the tile cold and soothing against my stocking feet. I didn’t even venture a glance down, I knew what a mess they were. Once everything was tucked away in it’s proper place, I finally retrieved my phone, quickly clearing my alerts and deleting my voicemail without listening to it. 

Since the evening of the ballet gala, the already delicate relationship between my mother and I had been strained to say the least although, to the casual observer and the public in general, we were the absolute picture of a happy family; smiling in all of the pictures taken at the seemingly endless whirlwind of events that my presence had been far from requested at. Expected, yes. Demanded, absolutely. Requested? No. Of my own free will: doubtful. To avoid casting any other aspersions on my father’s campaign, my mother had taken the liberty of controlling my wardrobe. God forbid the american public should know that I have a collarbone. Modesty and wholesomeness was the name of the game, as always. This was far from the junior leagues, as I had been warned time and again. I had forced more fake smiles and demured from speaking far too much over the weeks of travel and keeping things bottled up was proving to be my undoing. Grabbing one of the wayward apples from the floor, I gave it a quick wash before clasping it between my teeth, forgoing a conventional dinner as I headed towards the spare bedroom. 

I cast a sidelong glance at the mess of a lamp as I passed by, deftly sidestepping the shards of glass that had slipped across the hardwood. There was always the morning. Turning my attention back to my phone, I scrolled through my playlists until I was greeted with the familiar, heavy guitars and evocative, haunting lyrics pouring through the sound system. 

The floor in the spare room that served as my practice room gleamed as I settled down on it, a small first aid kit at my side. Pointing my toes, I wriggled out of my tights, the black cotton disguising the blood and damage that I knew lingered. I winced, sucking in a sharp breath as I pulled them completely off, the cotton staunchly refusing to part with the skin it had dried to and reopening the wounds anew. Muttering a silent thank you to the person that created my climate control app, I wriggled my toes just slightly as they were kissed by the chilly air. It stung for a moment and then died down into a dull ache as I finally pulled my knees up and examined the damage. 

Not the worst I had ever suffered, not even close, but it was far from pleasant. Gritting my teeth, I stifled a scream as I pulled off the toenail that had worked itself loose on one of the toes of my left foot, quickly pressing a sterile piece of gauze against it that quickly soaked red. No matter how many times I did that, it always, ALWAYS hurt. Some things never changed. The rest of my clean up was fairly routine; cleaning popped blisters, pouring carefully measured amounts of peroxide over the open wounds and watching as the towel that sat beneath my feet was spotted with pink and red. Once my toes were dry, tape and bandages were applied, as needed, anchoring broken or stressed toes to their neighbors, just enough to soothe the ache when I walked. The entire process took almost forty-five minutes. There were few things I was as meticulous about as my feet, and with good reason. They were my livelihood, at this point in time anyway, and as much as I loved traveling, even when my family was involved, it always caused pain in the end when I was finally able to really dance again. Gathering up all of my trash in the towel, I rose carefully, pushing up onto the balls of my feet to alleviate some of the ache that had settled along my arches. 

Pain was an inevitable part of life, be it emotional or physical, and for a dancer that was even more so. If it didn’t hurt, you were not doing something right, as cliche as that sounded. The pain, and the scars and imperfections that resulted from it, were a constant reminder that I was not only alive but thriving. I was doing something that I loved. Small solace to some but to me, it was everything. Dropping both my trash and the dirty towel in their respective places in the laundry room, I flipped off the rest of the lights and headed for my bedroom, overwhelmingly exhausted all of a sudden. 

Stripping off my dress and sweater, both are quickly tossed, along with my undergarments, into the hamper in my closet and I burrowed under the covers of my bed in a desperate attempt to warm up. The music was still thrumming through the air and my mind still whirled despite my exhaustion. Something was missing. Grabbing my phone, I didn’t think before sending the quick text, focusing intently on the screen to avoid any typos that seemed to spring up when I was sans glasses although I did smile at the familiar image that popped up on the screen, if only in a photograph. ‘Goodnight, Sir. Sleep well and dream sweet.’ Just a few words, sappy and slightly sentimental as they were, seemed to be just what I needed and I quickly slipped into a deep, dreamless and much needed sleep.


	29. Chapter Twenty Nine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Burn with me tonight...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another peek into Charleigh's world, although a bit different vantage point, kind of? I.. don't know. Quite possibly self-indulgent, but who knows?
> 
> You know! Kudos, comments and questions make the world go round.... well, okay. They make me a little happier. Pretty please? 
> 
> Please forgive the gratuitous artistic licence, I know. I know. And also the mistakes. 
> 
> For Flames_And_Jade on the occasion of her birth. I am super glad you exist. 
> 
> SnitchesAndTalkers, thank you for being you. And for sharing all of the ideas and encouragement and maybe a bit of ridiculous. You are wonderful. 
> 
> Laudanum_Cafe , I hope this helps with the storm prep. You stay safe and there shall be extensive inappropriateness for these three when you get back. You rock, Miss Lady. 
> 
> Thank you so much to everyone who takes the time to read, I hope I can bring a little brightness into your day. I appreciate you. 
> 
> Aural Satisfaction is 'Fire And Gasoline' by Sia. Play it loud. Just trust me.

All I could feel was pain. Muscles ached, my skin was slick with sweat, my chest heaved and I could feel the warm wetness of blood. It was perfect. I had forgotten the euphoria that came with being on stage; the heat of the lights, the murmur of the crowd and the final, almost deafening round of applause. They still sent a shiver through me even though I was sorry for the reasons that brought me here. 

The car accident had been unexpected, as they tended to be, and the driver of the car that had slammed into one of my students as she headed to dress rehearsal yesterday was three sheets to the wind when he slammed into her vehicle, going the wrong way on a one way street. While not life threatening, the broken ribs, foot and wrist that Hayley had suffered put her out of performance or practice for the foreseeable future, hence my position on the stage. 

It was amusing to me how things had never changed, no matter how many years went by. As soon as I sat down in the dressing room in front of the mirror surrounded by bright lights, I was transported back in time. The ritual of preparing for a performance was always the same, and it was a ritual, one that I had begun to develop at a very young age. 

I sat silent for nearly a minute, simply looking at my reflection in the mirror, naked and bare, in every sense ,already stretched and limber. Even though time had changed me, I could still see glimpses of the girl I had once been, the girl that still lived for what she did and loved it with every fibre of her being. After the quiet contemplation, the preparation began. Brushes, tubes, pots and pins were scattered over the vanity surface, each one playing a specific role. 

The primer went on first, creating a smooth canvas; clean and soft, smoothing over any imperfections and allowing what was almost a blank slate. The creams and powders that followed suit created a painting, quite literally. Shadows and light were manipulated and created with the stroke of a brush; bringing something from nothing to create what was a pretty illusion. The colors came next, shades of grey and and black expertly blended to create depth, framed by deep black liner and an exaggerated fringe of eyelashes held in place by a thin line of glue and coated in the blackest mascara. Blush, bronzer and highlighter in perfectly picked shades layered and accented before a slick of deepest red lipstick. 

Hair was next, extensions long since set into curlers that came out with a deft flick of my wrist, loose spirals falling down my back were wrapped and pinned into a chignon at the base of my neck and secured with countless pins, and a cloud of hairspray accented by a sparkling clip tucked tightly along the curve of the bun; a spray of deep red, orange and yellow rhinestones glimmering in the artificial lights that matched the earrings that were hanging almost heavily from my earlobes.

I almost didn’t recognize the woman in the mirror, features both softened and sharpened in turn, green eyes standing out sharply below a fringe of full lashes and red lips curving into the tiniest of smiles. Standing, I surveyed my reflection in the mirror, feeling my face flush even under the layers of makeup. I couldn’t see the bruises anymore, fingerprints rendered in mottled shades of purple, blue and green, standing out against the pale skin of my hips and waist but I could still feel them as though they were made yesterday instead of weeks ago. 

My last visit to Flame had been more than I could have ever anticipated and I couldn’t fight the shiver as the memories drifted through my mind and I fought to keep them at bay, just for now as I had to focus. Much like the scars that littered my now bare feet, I had worn the bruises with pride and stood up just a bit straighter every time I caught sight of them, each time I felt that beautiful burn as I sat or shifted just so each jolt of pain reminding me not only how they got there but the man who created them, and I could almost hear Mr. Stump’s low voice speaking words of praise at each movement.

Part one of the ritual was complete. The paints and brushes were tucked back into cases and boxes with care; pins collected and sprays returned to their homes, as it were. Part two began much like it’s predecessor, with a long look in the mirror. My eyes traveled the length of my body in reflection, taking in each curve and plane in turn before sitting back down to begin dressing. Heavy tights, an artificial tan for this day, were first; the thick material familiar and at the same time itchy. The bright stage lights would make what seemed like an inconsequential garment necessary, much in the same vein as the makeup. Without the paint and tights all my features would fade away into a ghostly pale facade, only the colors of the costume visible. Turning my attention to the garment on the door, I didn’t stifle my laugh. The fact that I knew the choreography was only part of the reason I was here; the costume was the other. Hayley was tiny and the costume had been fitted specifically to her, fortunately, with a very few differences, we were the same size; close enough to make it work. 

I was carefull as I dressed, nearly methodical, as I slipped into the stunning garment. The skirt was long, the gauzy asymmetrical hem gradually fading from red at the hem to orange and yellow throughout the length with just a touch of pale grey at the top, a long satin ribbon that I sewed quickly closed at my waist, the tails streaming down past the hem. The top was a bit more difficult and I had to bend and twist to get it in place and secured correctly, securely stitching a floating chiffon panel to the satin at my waist, the pale grey darkening and swirling up over my torso to fasten over the dark grey top that covered barely more than some bras. It was far from exposing however, and held a certain air of elegance about it, as many custom garments did, especially for dance. I smoothed my hands, trembling slightly, over the slick material, gliding across rhinestones and beads that shimmered even in the dressing room lights. The transformation from the girl who had walked in here only an hour ago, clad in jeans, flats and a blouse into a ballerina was nearly complete. 

The third and final part of the ritual was my favorite, always. I settled easily onto the rickety chair, ignoring the mirror and fished the shoes out from the bag that sat haphazard on the floor. They were beautiful and new, the usual pale pink satin dyed a bright, almost incandescent red. They were flawless, at least for the time being, the only breaking in that had been done was still not visible on the outside, the satin that gleamed was still perfect and unmarred. That perfection never lasted. Pulling a small pair of scissors from my bag, I gave the toes of my tights a tug, carefully snipping the seam at the ends and pulling, exposing my toes. Gel spacers came next, followed by tape carefully wound around toes just so, the ends tucked carefully away. Gel pads followed, cool and almost alien feeling but a necessity in this business. When I had started en pointe years ago, I had held steadfast to my regimine of lambswool but I quickly grew tired of pulling the tiny strands of it out of wet, bloody blisters and embraced technology kicking and screaming although I never looked back. Then the shoe itself, that symbol of grace and elegance. To most people, pointe shoes seemed to be lovely and delicate, although the truth was far from it. The silk, muslin, glue and leather that composed them formed a perfect beginning on which to showcase strength and make something that is physically grueling look nothing short of effortless. The fabric hid the blood and scars, the broken bones and burning skin; it kept everything pretty. 

Pointing my toes, I slid my left foot into the shoe, my padded toes fitting perfectly into the tapered box toe, the heel fitting tightly. Ribbons were tied expertly, the long lengths of red crossed and wrapped before being tied off into a tiny knot on the inside of my ankle, the tails tucked away beneath themselves. The process was repeated a second time, with practiced care, and I wiggled both feet before standing, ensuring nothing was amiss. It wasn’t, everything stayed tucked away and secured. A last glance in the mirror, scrutinizing every detail, was all I allowed before I slipped out of the room and up the stairs towards the stage.

I stayed tucked away in the wings as I warmed up, my eyes watching from the unusual yet familiar vantage point. I stretched and pushed, rising up on my toes and sinking down into a plie over and over hand resting on the back chair at my side, my eyes glancing between the dancers on the stage and the full audience and the familiar butterflies fluttering in my stomach. 

That feeling never got old; the anticipation, the rush of nerves before stepping out into the bright stage lights were as familiar to me as my own reflection. I had tried to feel it elsewhere to no avail, it had always escaped me outside of the stage. However, each time I crossed through the now familiar bright red doors of the club that was just down the street, I felt something close, although darker, more primal but no less amazing. 

I focused on myself, eyes closed as I marked the familiar routine in the small amount of space I had, blocking out the low hum of stagehands and sound men; ignoring the click of tap shoes and the soft static of the microphones that everyone wore until I couldn’t anymore. That wave of applause, the rush of air as the stage cleared of the previous dancers brought reality slamming back to me and I took a deep breath as I glanced out from behind the curtain one last time. 

The performance was a benefit as opposed to a competition or recital, showcasing dancers from programs at local colleges and schools to raise money for a little girl who was struggling with treatment for Cystic Fibrosis. I had met her several times and she was absolutely beautiful but she looked so delicate, as if the wrong touch would send her shattering to pieces. She loved dance although at this point her disease had advanced far enough that she couldn’t participate, she never missed an opportunity to watch in awe. My name was called over the sound system, echoing through the theatre as a replacement for Hayley and I sucked in a sharp breath, letting it out to a silent four count before picking up the chair and stepping out from the wings of the stage. 

My footfalls were silent, as was the audience as I set my chair down, the black lacquered wood blending with not only the floor but the backdrop. The lights were blinding and I squinted to see past them, searching the blurry audience for a familiar head of golden curls. I could barely see her through the haze, and I thanked whatever deity that was above that I had remembered my contacts. Giving an almost imperceptible wink, I took a breath and draped myself over the chair, the seat beneath my back and my hands and feet brushing the floor as I waited in the hot spotlight for the music to begin. 

The first notes of the song rang out, loud and strong through the air and I smiled as I waited for the drums and lyrics to kick in before I started to move. It was far from a traditional piece and I loved it for exactly that reason, although I did have a soft spot for classical music and tutus, and always would. The benefit provided an unusual opportunity to step outside of the box, as it were, and infuse more of who we were as dancers into the routines, and I know that we all did, whether we were immediately ment to perform or not. 

The song was haunting and all consuming, and it had been in my head since I had first heard it, the images that the vocals; raw and powerful, created had haunted me during both sleeping and waking hours. If you can find something that speaks to you on such a deep level, that just instantly works itself into your life, demands to be heard and felt; you needed to use it and I had in working this routine for Hayley. 

At the first rasped lyric, I raised my leg high, pushing my hands on the floor behind my head and kicking them over to stand before rising en pointe. The hardest part was always that first step, it always had been and once that was out of the way, the rest of the movements flowed instinctively. The chair served, in some points, as an extension of my body and I used it shamelessly; pushing, pulling and balancing on it as the music played. 

Despite the fear that always lingered, the doubt and second guessing which seemed to always be in the back of my head, I never felt more comfortable or at ease with myself than when I was dancing. The freedom, the music, the strength and push of each movement; the stage beneath my feet, muscles twisting and stretching as I jumped and turned… it was as close to heaven as I could get and I always poured everything that I had into it. There was no halfway; no almost, not for me, not with this. Dancing was more than just what I did, even now; It was who I was. My personality, my emotions, my everything was put into those four minutes. I may have been painted and costumed but as I performed I was exposed; every flaw and insecurity out on display for the world to see. And I didn’t care. I put everything I had into each performance; good, bad, ugly, they were everything, each step revealing more about me than a thousand spoken words could even begin to convey.

Today, as I moved under the hot blue lights, in another dancer’s costume, my skin itching from the beads and stones that scattered the thin fabric, I painted a picture; told a story without so much as a word. It was an honor to be able to perform for people, to be the one able to bring something special to their day. It didn’t matter if it was for one person of one thousand. The time that people gave, the money they worked so hard for was set aside to watch people move, to view their story as something different in the middle of what could have been a series of the same days over and over again. We as dancers, artists, athletes; whatever name you wanted to bestow upon it, had been picked, and consciously, to bring something more to their life. Beauty, freedom, fantasy… it didn’t matter what it was called it was an honor and I kept that in mind each and every time I stepped out onto a stage. 

I lost myself so easily, giving over to the movements and music, as I always did. I knew, logically what I was doing, the steps whispered silently in my mind just before they were executed, although they were unnecessary. It was second nature at this point; an instinct that I never tried to fight as each note paired with an step that was executed with the utmost care and respect, not only for the music and my audience but for myself as well; for my body, the strength and pain that were shown in equal measure with each turn and leap, the cheers from the audience fading away and leaving me with just the music, a chair and myself. 

The four minutes went by in a whirlwind, literally, and I was draped, once again, over the chair, panting and aching as I returned to myself amid the applause from the crowd. I allowed myself a moment to revel in it, just a small instant, before rising and dropping into a small curtsey and heading offstage, blood still rushing in my ears. 

I made my way back to the dressing room with my head down as I fought to slow my breathing and clear my head. My toes burned with each step; that familiar combination of pain and wetness that signaled fresh blisters and blood streaking across the tape that held them tightly together. They were of little thought to me however, as I sank into the chair in front of the vanity and grabbed my phone, steadying my voice as much as I could while catching my breath. 

Scrolling through the contacts I stopped at the one I was searching for came into view and I fought the slight shiver that ran up my spine as I placed the call and held the phone to my ear. The sound was tinny and distant as it rang, and my knee bounced nervously, stopping only as voicemail picked up. Swallowing thickly, I listened to the outgoing message and waited for the beep that echoed in my ear as I spoke.* Good afternoon, Sir, it’s Charleigh…


	30. Chapter Thirty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Let's play a game...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all, holy shit. This got out of control. 100k. Sorry. And thank you. 
> 
> Okay. SO. This has me super nervous. Something about Dom Patrick popping up always has me bracing. 
> 
> Want to help me calm? Comments, kudos and questions go farther than you may know in that regard. Click the little buttons and make me happy. 
> 
> This is not at all betad and gdocs was acting a fool while I was editing so I am SURE there are more mistakes than usual. Let me know and I will fix them. 
> 
> As always, I try and be as respectful as I can, but I do take a few liberties, and this is no exception. Concrit is welcome if you take offense to anything I have written. 
> 
> For Flames_And_Jade because she is a glorious human and I adore her. 
> 
> Thanks and adoration go out to SnitchesAndTalkers for endless support and listening to my stream of babble. 
> 
> Shout OUT to Laudanum_Cafe for being the bestest. You rock my non-existent socks. 
> 
> Thank you to everyone who has taken the time to read this (not so) little tale, it means more to me than I could possibly begin to describe. 
> 
> Happy reading and let me know your thoughts. 
> 
> Aural Satisfaction: 'Earned It' by The Weeknd . I know. I KNOW. The soundtrack for that pile of shit adaptation was far better than it had any right to be. I said it and I meant it.

The time after I hung up the phone was a bit of a blur, both anticipation and adrenaline racing through my veins. I didn’t bother to change, not yet, and instead just slipped of my pointe shoes, eying the red that stained the toes of my tights, evidence of the newly formed blisters thanks to the rigorous performance. As much as preparing to dance was a ritual, coming down afterwards was as well, although it was always just slightly different. Today was unusual in that I was rushed, although in a glorious way. Toe pads were dropped into my bag, tape was pulled off and I traded the red slippers for the black flats that I had worn in. Tugging a black sharpie from my bag, I scrawled a quick message on the box of the right shoe and tied the ribbons in a tight knot, it wasn’t common, not for a nobody, but I knew the gesture would be appreciated even if I wasn’t there to hand them over. 

I opted not to change, simply slipping my bag over my shoulder and heading down the back stairs, handing my shoes off to one of my dancers as I passed and ducking out the backstage door. The stairs were metal and the flimsy rail was hot in the sweltering late afternoon sun. I withheld the urge to put on my sunglasses until both feet were firmly on the cracked asphalt, not caring in the slightest to stay on the rickety death trap any longer than I needed to. Once they were safely in place, I dropped my head and began to navigate through the busy crowds that lined the strip. In any other city, save maybe for New Orleans during Mardi Gras, I would have been wildly out of place in my costume and stage makeup, the fiery hues of my skirt echoing those that were just beginning to form on the horizon, but here in Vegas, it was nothing out of the ordinary. There were so many people from so many walks of life that my ensemble, as unconventional as it may have been, didn’t raise so much as an eyebrow. 

I walked quickly, my attention focused equally on my own feet and this around me as I narrowly managed to avoid several collisions in the four block walk. Either fake ID’s had become increasingly better since I had been in school or people just didn’t care, although this being Las Vegas, it was probably a combination of them both, with the general ‘Whats happens in Vegas’ mentality thrown in. 

I stopped in front of the building as I always did, taking it in for a moment, the hustle and bustle of the street fading away into a dull white noise as I stared. It was such an innocuous looking building, fading into it’s surroundings, with the exception of those doors, the red paint nearly glowing the the early evening light. A smile pulled at my lips as I hopped up the stairs, resting a single hand against the solid wood; the strength and warmth familiar and slightly exciting under my hand. My key card, already grasped between my fingers, slipped easily through the lock and I watched with baited breath for the light to change from red to green. I always had the feeling that it wouldn’t; that I would be turned away for some reason. Today, however, was not that day and I heard the slight click as the light changed and I opened the door. 

It was, as always, cool, quiet and dark in the lobby; a beautiful respite from the heat and barely controlled chaos of the street. I gave a small smile to Lindsey at her desk and glanced up at the clock on the wall. I was on time, a few minutes early even, and I used the it to my advantage, leaning against the wall and closing my eyes, hand smoothing over the chiffon and silk that made up my costume, the beading and sequins rough under my fingers.*

“Hello, Angel” 

The words, although quiet, startled me out of my slight reverie and I gasped, sucking in a sharp breath as my eyes opened and I met Mr. Stump’s gaze, a smile pulling at the corners of my mouth as my fingers curled themselves into the flimsy material of my skirt. 

I wasn’t surprised, not really but more taken slightly off guard. Either I had been so far in my own thoughts that I hadn’t heard him, or he had been very quiet. Then again, knowing my state at the moment, it could very well have been a combination of both. “Good evening, Sir. Thank you for seeing me on such short notice.” There was a slight catch in my voice and I swallowed repeatedly to try and get rid of it, my free hand shifting the bag strap that was slung over my shoulder. “I apologize for my ensemble, I didn’t want to be late.” As I spoke, my free hand smoothed the deep grey chiffon sash of the top of the costume, suddenly slightly self-conscious, although I didn’t know why. While far from anything I would normally wear, was not at all risque, and Mr. Stump had seen me in far less on nearly every occasion that we had met. My cheeks warmed slightly even under the heavy makeup, and I dropped my head, my gaze falling to my feet as memories of the last time I had been here flooded back, almost involuntarily, and sent a shiver down my spine.

“Nonsense, you are lovely as always, I promise. Shall we?” He offered an arm as he spoke and I couldn’t help but smile. The words are gentle and reassuring, and the touch that ever so gently tilts my chin up is tender. I move almost out of instinct, glancing up to meet Mr. Stump’s blue eyes with my own green ones for just a moment before he moves away. As much of an antiquated gesture , and possibly comical as offering an arm may have been in any other circumstance, here behind these doors, from the impeccably dressed man before me it seemed nothing short of perfect. Dipping my head in silent thanks, I slip my arm through his and follow just a single step behind down the hallway to stop in front of the beautiful door. I wait silently, my weight shifting easily from one foot to the other while Mr. Stump easily opened the door. 

Whether it was the cold air overhead, my meager clothing or a combination of the two I wasn’t sure, but I shivered slightly, wrapping my arms tightly around my torso as I nodded my head in silent thanks as I was shown into the room, sliding my bag off my shoulder to rest it against the wall by the door. “Thank you, Sir. “

“Are you cold, Angel?” The words were soft and there was a question tinging his voice. 

Mr. Stump’s touch was gentle, the concern evident in his voice as his hands work easily up and down my arms, each stroke bringing a bit of warmth to my chilled skin although that may have been more due to his proximity than the actual touch. Either way, I was thankful, and I tipped my head back to glance up and catch his gaze. “I am a bit, but it will pass, I’m sure. I think it’s just the change from outside to in. The heat is ridiculous today.” My words were simple but honest and I observed Mr. Stump in silence, my mind suddenly whirling with questions. For as much as the man in front of me knew about me, and he did, he knew more than anyone else, a fact that made me stand just a little taller, I knew very little about him and I wanted to, whether it was my place to do so or not. Leaning into his touch I let the words tumble out without thinking, the combination of adrenaline from performing and the thrill of being back here, in a place where I could be so authentically myself, going far to lower my inhibitions. “What’s your favorite book, Sir?” It was an odd question and I had surprised myself slightly even as the words slipped from my lips. I backpedaled quickly, heat rising up over my neck to spread to my face. “I’m sorry, you don’t have to answer, I was just curious, it can get the better of me sometimes.” 

“Just curious, Hmm?” The words were accompanied by a smile, one that held both promise and a knowing that pulled me in, that had since I had first seen it. “How about a game? I’ll answer your questions, but you have to give me something in exchange.” There was something dark to his tone, an alluring knowledge that had me aching to know more. 

“I can do that, Sir.” The words are out before I have a chance to stop them and I barely hold back the eager bounce at the possibility of learning more about this man who has held me absolutely enthralled since our first meeting. Had the proposition been made by anyone else, it would have been an immediate no, possibly followed by running away but not here, not with him. I felt, behind this door, with this man, safer than I did anywhere else, including when I was performing. It still almost boggled my mind, in the best way possible, and I was constantly thankful for the series of events that had landed me here, however unusual they might have been. “So, it will be like twenty questions, then, but with a twist? “I tried to keep the eagerness in my voice at bay, at least slightly, although I knew that I failed. No matter how hard I tried to hide them, my emotions; good, bad and everything in between, tended to be written on my face for anyone that knew me to see. And Mr. Stump knew me, better than nearly anyone else.

“Absolutely, Angel, absolutely. Twenty answers and twenty tasks. Simple, right?” He sat on the couch as he spoke, easy and with a cool elegance that spoke volumes, his eves never leaving mine. “I think that your first task should involve taking off your tights.” 

Settling easily onto the plush couch, I relaxed for just a moment under Mr. Stump’s gaze as I pondered the terms. They were as he had explained, and I was far from uncomfortable even as I felt his blue eyes sweep over my form. “I think that is as good of a place as any.” My smile is soft as I stand, keeping my head down, and my fingers fiddle with the bow at the back of my diaphanous skirt, loosening it and unfastening the hook and eye closures that held it tight, unhooking the gauzy strip of chiffon that connected the skirt to the top, as unusual as it was. Stepping out of my shoes, I wiggle my toes for an instant before sliding the skirt and attached dance shorts down my over my hips to puddle around my feet, followed quickly by the tights that had been so politely requested. Setting them aside, I pull my skirt back up, re fastening hooks and tying bows with practiced fingers before settling back down on the couch, and extending the tan tights toward Mr. Stump. “Your favorite book, Sir?”

“I have just returned from a visit to my landlord—the solitary neighbour that I shall be troubled with. This is certainly a beautiful country! In all England, I do not believe that I could have fixed on a situation so completely removed from the stir of society.” The familiar words were spoken easily and with a reverence that was obvious, the smile playing on his lps. 

I watched Mr. Stump carefully as he took my tights and tucked my feet beneath me, smoothing the filmy skirt over my thighs. The words rang a bell and it took me a moment before I was able to place them, a smile pulling at my lips as I figured them out, pleasantly surprised and yet, at the same time, not at all. “Wuthering Heights.” It made sense, far more than I had anticipated, and my gaze flickered, just for a moment, to the watercolor paint by numbers that was framed behind his desk. Of course. 

Pursing my lips, I weighed the possibilities for the next question, my head spinning with possibilities. There was so much I wanted to know, so many small things that I ached to ask, but I had a limit and every question needed to count. “What is your favorite way to spend a stormy afternoon, either rain or snow?”

There was no pause as Mr. Stump gestured to my skirt with a quick flick of his wrist, a smile pulling at his lips. “I do love inclimate weather, honestly. I suppose I will always be a lake effect kid at heart.” His laugh was quiet and genuine, no doubt backed by years of memories. “I love being inside during storms and watching both the beauty and fury from where it is safe. Good company, a good book and perhaps a drink are just a few of the ways I enjoy spending storms. Although there is something to be said for getting caught in the rain.” 

The gesture was simple and I responded quickly, rising to unfasten hooks and untie the bow, wiggling slightly as I pushed the fabric down over my hips and let it fall with a soft swoosh to my feet. I left the swath of fabric that attached to the waist hanging free and settled back down on the couch, smiling at the simple answer as I hand over my skirt and the attached shorts. “That sounds absolutely perfect, Sir.” Pulling my lower lip between my teeth, I pause before asking my next question, my cheeks pinking as I drop my gaze, the intimate nature of the next question that popped into my head giving me pause but not nearly enough to keep me from asking. “Do you have a fantasy that you have yet to live out, Sir?” I kept my eyes down, my feet tucked beneath me and my fingers twisting with a strand of hair that had escaped my chignon.

“Daring, Angel. I’m proud of you.” His fingers trailed over the jeweled bodice of my costume and   
Although the touch was gentle, I could feel the warmth of Mr. Stump’s fingers through the light material of the deep grey bodice. “And I hope that you think the answer is worth your task.”

 

“ I have no doubt that it will be, Sir. Even if that answer is no, it is still so very worth it.” Twisting my arms behind my back, I deftly undo the line of buttons that hold the top in place, unsnapping the swath of ombre fabric that was attached at the shoulder. Sliding the heavily beaded garment straps down my arms, I leave the chiffon draped over my lap as I offer the bodice to the man beside me. I sat, once again, naked and exposed, but safer than I had ever been, before the man who held my trust so very easily. He was an enigma, to say the very least, and I relished each small tidbit of information with all of the excitement that was in me. Smoothing the grey chiffon over my thighs, I look back up and brush my hair back, securing it tightly behind the clip that was tucked into my chignon.

Mr. Stump smiles as he takes my top and gently lays it with the other discarded items of my clothing. “I tend to be rather forgiving with my urges, there are very few things I want to experience that I have not, although there may be one or two things that I would like to experience that I haven’t. There are a few impulses I have had to fight with, especially of late.” Warm, calloused fingers slide easily over my collarbone as he speaks and I tremble just slightly under the gentle touch, goosebumps forming in the wake of the strong fingers that skimmed along my skin. I watched, in rapt fascination as Mr. Stump formulated the words and delivered them in the same familiar, comforting cadence that I had become so fond of. Meeting blue eyes that seemed to twinkle with something dark and almost frightening, I smile and drop my chin just slightly in a tiny nod. The words had nearly a visceral response in me, almost more than another touch would have, circling in my mind and ringing in my ears. The confession was not one that had been expected, to say the very least, although it was far from unwelcome. The final words had me sitting up a bit straighter, a smile pulling slightly at my painted lips despite the blush that I could feel creeping up my neck. It took me a moment to find my voice, words weighed carefully before I speak with a slight catch in my voice as I met Mr. Stump’s eyes again. “And what if I told you that you didn’t have to fight off those impulses, Sir?”

“Oh, Angel. There will always be things that we have to fight, it is part of the human nature. But discerning what should be fought and what should not, well, that is what keeps life interesting.” There was a darkness in his eyes, tempting and alluring as his fingers slipped under my chin.

Tilting my head back with the gentle pressure, I keep my eyes wide to hold his gaze, despite the almost overwhelming urge to look down. My tongue darts quickly over my lips and I twist the flimsy fabric in my lap between my fingers, willing my pulse to slow. I wasn’t afraid, not at all; it was quite the opposite, in fact. There was nothing but comfort and safety as I sat here, despite my nudity and the gleam in Mr. Stump’s eye. I knew, intrinsically, that I would be nothing but safe in his hands, no matter what the situation brought. My smile is soft, with the slightest hint of mischief as I tilt my head to the side. “I believe that was a question, Sir.” 

“Observant as always, Charleigh.” There was a lightness in his words that wasn’t there a moment ago. “Well done. And I do suppose it was. Now what shall your task be? Perhaps, seeing as it was so intoxicating while you were in Boston, I should ask for a bit of a demonstration again. It would be so lovely to see up close.” 

My smile is bright and proud at the soft words of praise, and I tug my bottom lip between my teeth to keep from giggling. The elation gives way quickly to eagerness with the almost teasing words as Mr. Stump’s hand slides easily between my knees. “Whatever you think is appropriate, Sir.” It is almost a struggle to keep the hitch from my voice and I let my thighs part under the gentle touch. “I am at your service.” The words were honest, completely so, and I kept my head up this time, the confidence and pride at the statement very, very true.

Mr. Stump’s hand slid slowly up the bare skin of my thigh, teasingly light, and I parted my legs under his touch, my gaze not falling from his face even as his fingers slipped, teasingly against the wetness between my thighs. “One thing at a time, Angel. But thank you for that.”

I suck in a sharp, wavering breath at the first intimate touch, and my eyes close instinctively as I fight to remain still, as his fingers pull away, whimpering at the loss. The feeling was short lived as I opened my eyes to see a single finger resting against Mr. Stump’s lips, the quiet groan that caught in his throat ringing in my ears. I nodded, although I didn’t know why and I fought to regain my composure while Mr. Stump slowly and almost tortuously teased as his finger slipped back inside me. “I-I ah, yes Sir.” I stumbled over my words for a moment, wracking my brain for a question that seemed to make sense. “What is your favorite dessert, Sir?”

My head fell back at each twist of clever fingers and I moaned aloud as Mr. Stump’s free hand gently wrapped around my wrist, pulling my hand down to join his between my thighs. “I think that one earns me that show.” He leaned in as he spoke, his breath brushing over my ear. “I’ve been thinking about this for longer than I care to admit, Angel.”

The direction, while not unexpected, still catches me slightly off guard and I swallow hard. Despite all that had taken place during our last game, as it were, I had still never actually been before him in this position and the thought had my nerves jangling, although there was a certain tinge of anticipation that was behind the initial worry. “Yes, Sir.” The words were quiet, barely a whisper and I dropped my gaze, my cheeks flaming as I slowly slid my finger through the wetness between my legs, gasping softly at the sensation.

“That’s my girl. And creme brulee, although it has to be made just right. It is a delight for the senses, truly, almost hedonistic when done well.”

“Thank you, Sir.” The words waver slightly as my fingers slowly slide over my slick folds again and again, never quite slipping inside myself, not yet. Forcing myself to keep my eyes open, I glance up to meet Mr. Stump’s gaze, and suck in a soft breath. There is a light in his eyes, slightly playful, but it is balanced in a perfect way by the dark smirk that plays on his lips. I can feel a shiver run down my spine as he watches me, and drop my own gaze, heavy beneath the fake lashes. It takes me a moment to focus on anything other than the sensations that are coursing through me but I know that we have just barely begun. Swallowing, I focus as hard as I can on formulating a question and getting it out without too much stuttering. “If you could do anything right now, with no consequence, what would it be? “

The dark chuckle reached my ears before I looked up, pulling my attention easily before the shift of the cushions beside me. I watched, enraptured as Mr. Stump made his way to the small cabinet on the far wall and withdraw something from the depths of one of the myriad of drawers, silver glinting between his pale fingers as he returned to my side, his quiet footfalls highlighting the slight clink of metal on metal. The sound had me freezing in place, my hand stilling between my legs as I watched Mr. Stump return, an almost animal like grace in his strides, and a predatory grin on his lips. Even then, I wasn’t scared, not for even a moment. My eyes, glued to the shining chains in his hand, widened as the metal glinted in the light. Although I was unfamiliar with the implement in person, I knew what it was for and I dropped my hands to rest by my sides. The metal was cold against my sensitive nipples and I sucked in a hard breath at the sensation, despite the fact that it was anything but unwelcome. 

Every time Mr. Stump and I met, I learned something new; found another part of myself that I had not even been aware existed before he coaxed it out of me with skillful, trained hands and commanding, hushed tones and words of praise. I was still just as eager to learn after our visits as I had been that first night I had walked in, knees shaking and half blind. My back arched just slightly as he settled back into his position across from me on the couch and I let out a shuddering breath, my hands resting on the plush upholstery at my sides while I ponder my next question. “What is your favorite holiday, Sir?”

A finger slid through the chain that hung between my breasts, the tension giving a tug to the already tender buds that are closed in the clamps. “Your hands, Angel. I’m fairly certain I didn’t say stop.”

I dropped my gaze immediately, my cheeks flushing brightly with embarrassment at having stopped of my own volition. The gentle pull on the chain tugs at my already sensitive nipples and a squeak of surprise slips past my lips as my head shoots up and I meet Mr. Stump’s dark gaze. “No, Sir, you didn’t, I’m sorry.” My tone is apologetic and sincere, each word very true. I can’t look away as he moves closer, the couch cushions shifting under his weight. I’m fascinated by him, in all senses of the word; each movement, each word held my attention, given as freely as I gave my body, and trust. 

“I think that one is going to cost you an orgasm, Angel, if you would.” The question was light, almost offhand, but there was far more behind the words than I could have ever imagined. 

The stipulation took me slightly off guard and I stammered for a moment, tripping over my words. “You want- I mean- Yes, Sir.” Once they are finally out, I take a deep breath and close my eyes, sliding my hands back between my legs, my head falling back with a soft gasp as my fingers slide back between my thighs. My skin is slick with arousal, both from Mr. Stump’s fingers and my own, and I suck in a breath as I slowly slide a finger deep into my core. 

Without even looking, I could feel Mr. Stump’s eyes on me; gauging my movements and reactions and it takes me a moment to overcome my sudden embarrassment, although once it is gone, it is gone for good, and I allow myself to simply relax under my own hands, teasing and sure, each stroke a bit deeper and more sure than the last. After our last experiment, I knew my body very well and judging my the heat already pooling in my pit of my stomach, it wouldn’t be very long before Mr. Stump received the penance, as it were, that he had requested. 

My chest heaves as my fingers slide easily in and out of my core, twisting and curving just so, the eyes that I knew were on me fueling the desire that coursed through me. A few rocks of my hips against my hand and I was very nearly there, my moans turning to soft cries as I got closer and closer to that edge. I could feel my release just barely out of reach, and I whimpered in frustration and need, opening my eyes to meet Mr. Stump’s penetrating gaze. That did it, a simple look, and I was falling over the edge with a strangled cry, my body arching up off the couch only to fall back against the cushions, trembling. 

“Good Girl. Halloween” The words were whispered against my ear, Mr. Stump’s breath hot against my skin. “There is something about the spirit of the night, as it were, that always made me happy. My killer sweet tooth probably factors into that as well.” 

My breath slows to a soft pant as I slowly come down from my high, Mr. Stump’s soothing voice and warm breath ghosting over my skin both helping and hindering the process. The words bring a soft smile to my lips and my eyes drift open, meeting his gaze as I prop myself up on my elbows my legs still trembling slightly as I relax even more, my head spinning pleasantly. Inhibitions slightly lowered by my euphoric state, the next question slips out without any thought, tumbling from my lips before I could stop it. ”What’s your favorite position, Sir?” 

“Oh Angel, the answers this could have. I am partial to any position that allows me to look in my partner’s eyes. There is something immensely intimate about that, far past the pure physical.” Deft fingers play with the clamps that are tight around my nipples and a sharp squeak slips from my lips at the slight tug. The pleasure far overrides the twinge of pain, although that was beautiful in it’s own right. I wriggled down on the couch, relaxing against the plush cushions, as I listened to Mr. Stump’s answer, the words bringing a blush to my skin despite both my nudity and the state of obvious arousal that I was still coming down from. I hold his gaze, unable to look away and nod just slightly, my tongue darting out to wet parched lips as I fight to keep my mind from wandering too far, trying with everything in me to focus on the present moment; pulling myself together with a deep, slightly shuddering breath. I wracked my still foggy brain for another question, swallowing thickly before the words finally fell from my lips. “What’s your favorite ice cream flavor?”

Mr. Stump crooks one finger in the air and and grins, motioning me over before patting his lap. “A good homemade vanilla actually, preferably with some fresh allspice and nutmeg, although just a bit.” There is a softness in his voice as his hands skim over my ribs. 

Not bothering to hide my smile, I sigh softly as I settle on Mr. Stump’s lap, his hands resting easily on my hips. My breath catches and I drop my gaze under his roaming eyes and a blush tinges my cheeks as I lean my ass carefully against his thighs. Brushing the stray piece of hair that has, once again slipped from the confines of its comb, I glance back up with a soft grin, spurred on by the one that was spread across Mr. Stump’s handsome face, my hands resting at my sides as I pull my lip between my teeth and I ponder my next question. “There is something to be said for simplicity, Sir, I’m a fan of vanilla myself. Is there something that sets your teeth on edge? “

The stroke of fingers from my hip down the curve of my behind was blissful and I basked in it for just a moment. I heard the sound seemingly before I felt it, the sharp sting of a firm hand against my soft skin. A quiet cry slipped from my lips, more from surprise than pain, and I jumped, startled. “People who harm children and animals. There is no fucking excuse for that.” 

My hands grasped around Mr. Stump’s shoulders for balance as the slight burn settled in and I shifted my weight forward just a bit to take the pressure off of the heated skin. “ I can understand that, Sir.” Pursing my lips, I lean back just slightly against the large hand that rested comfortably against my ass, questions flying around my mind. I was halfway through my allotted questions and I wanted to make sure that they all counted. The need to know all I could about this man was almost palpable and I was nervous that I would somehow ask the wrong thing, although why I couldn't exactly say. “Do you have a favorite vacation spot?”

My breath catches as my head is none to gently tugged back and my eyes go wide as I hear pins and the studded comb hit to the floor, rhinestones skittering across the wood. Eyes closing out of instinct as soft lips travel across my neck to my ear, I bite my tongue to keep from moaning at the low, almost dark voice that ghosts across my skin.

“Chicago, actually, as strange as it sounds. I love my city.” The words are raspy against my ear, low and soothing. 

My hair fell in haphazard tangles brushing across my cheeks as I listened to the nearly whispered words, rocking my hips backward into the hand that massaged my ass with just enough pressure to ache beautifully. “I can imagine you do, Sir. I rather feel the same way about Boston.” Sucking in a shaky breath, my hands tighten slightly on Mr. Stump’s arms as I fight to clear my head and focus on the task at hand, as it were, speaking once again before I could process the words coming from my mouth. “What was your most memorable sexual experience, Sir? “

There was a soft hum against the skin of my neck as one of Mr. Stump’s hands slides slowly between us, tugging lightly on the chain as it skimmed down my abdomen. “ Honestly, that is a hard question, there are so many that are standouts in their own right. However, there was one night a partner and I were caught unaware by a summer storm. There was something absolutely electric about it in more ways than one.” 

My body jerked as familiar fingers slipped between my legs, teasing and swirling across already sensitive flesh and I let my head fall back against the hand that was still tightly wound in my hair. I bit hard on my lower lip to stifle the moans that threatened to slip out between the tease of fingers and the lips that glided so smoothly against my skin with each word. Although sure, sexy and unbelievably tempting, there was something behind them, just the briefest pause before they were spoken that made the questions crystalize in my mind. I wanted to know, to ask more information but I knew that it was not my place, not now and not with this subject anyway. Sliding my hips forward into the strong, probing fingers, I allow a tiny moan to slip from my lips and swallow thickly. Despite my incessant curiosity, my honesty got the better of me before I could contain it and I spoke quietly, opening my eyes. “You haven’t given me my tasks, Sir.”

“I’m stockpiling them, Angel” The words were rasped with a wicked twist of his fingers and I cried out wantonly at the sudden but wholly wanted movement, Mr. Stump’s fingers and the darkness behind his eyes combining to put every fiber of my being on edge as I squirmed, gasping to catch my breath as I processed the implications of the statement that rang in my ears. 

“Yes, Sir.” I struggled to keep from rocking against the fingers that so beautifully teased me and held his gaze as long as I could, my words trembling as I stuttered out another question. “What is your favorite guilty pleasure, Sir? “

“I don’t ever find guilt in pleasure, it is counter productive.” There is no hesitation in in his voice, nor in the thumb that teases over my clit as the cool chain between my breasts is tugged softly.

Nearly squeaking at the sudden tightening of the clamps on my nipples, I wriggle my hips forward against Mr. Stump’s hand, sliding flush against him with a whimper. “There is something to be said for that, Sir. Guilt is something I tend to have more than a little experience with, Sir, and it’s very overrated.” My words, as much as I struggled to keep them steady, wavered and were broken with soft gasps as my eyes drifted closed and I pressed my thighs as close together as I could as I straddled Mr. Stump’s lap. I swallowed repeatedly, my throat dry, and took a deep breath before forcing the strangled words out, interspersed with soft gasps of pleasure. “If you could meet anyone from history, who would it be?” 

“Never let anyone tell you there is shame in what you want, Angel, ever.” He leaned in close as he spoke, the faintest hint of stubble brushing against my heated cheek. “And probably Van Gogh, if I am fully honest. Although there are a few musicians that I would love to converse with.” 

Whimpering more at the tender touch on my cheek that the fingers sliding in and out of my core, I swallow back a moan and nod mutely, my hips rocking instinctively into Mr. Stump’s hand with each thrust of his fingers. The cold clamps and tight pull of the chain that controlled them was timed to my own movements, each shift sending a sharp twinge of exquisite pain through me. It took me a moment to find my words, my mouth dry, and my eyes closed as I spoke freely, a rather unusual action for me. I had spent so many years being told not to speak, not to enjoy and to feel nothing but guilt that the message, as well as the voice of the man that spoke it had me feeling safer than I had ever been. “ I don’t feel guilty Sir, not for a moment.” The words caught me off guard with their truth and I opened my eyes to meet Mr. Stump’s eyes after they had passed my lips, my hands tightening their grip on his arms, the material almost luxurious beneath my fingers. “What is your favorite song, Sir?” 

“Good girl.” 

The praise had me sucking in a hard breath, the sound hissed through clenched teeth as I struggled to still myself, trembling slightly as Mr. Stump ceased his movements. My head was already buzzing, my entire being on edge as I dropped my head back, eyes closed and focused on simply being present.

“I can’t pick just one I’m afraid. You may get a pass for that one.”

I didn’t speak, not yet, but instead listened as my breathing evened out, a small smile pulling at my lips. “I must say, that doesn’t surprise me, Sir. I’m very much a fan as well” Loosening the grip that I had on his arms, I let my hands drop to hang loosely by my sides, as I once again meet blue eyes, taken aback momentarily by the darkness there, although not nearly frightened, not in the least. I felt, as I always did, beyond safe, to say the very least. “What is your favorite item of clothing?”

Mr. Stump’s eyes narrowed as he resumed his movements, his words steady as ever, despite my writing on his lap. “I’m quite fond of my hats, as you may have noticed, but I also have a cardigan that I absolutely adore. It’s old and ridiculous but there is something so comforting about it. 

Crying out softly, the sound muted by the lip clenched between my teeth, I wriggle my hips in response to the increased pressure against my stimulated clit and the fingers that teased and curled within me. I move instinctively with the thrusts, each one pulling a soft gasp from me. My hands scratched futilely at the couch beside me and I struggled, quite unsuccessfully, to focus on something other than the pleasure coursing through me. The answer brought a small laugh and I swallowed thickly as I forced myself to look at Mr. Stump, one shaking hand returning to rest on his arm, the fabric of the shirt cool and luxe beneath my fingertips. “That sounds like quite the sight.” The words were out before I had even realized it and I squeaked in embarrassment, my face flaming. “I’m sorry, Sir, I didn’t mean to be, well, I’m sorry.” My voice cracked with not only whimpers of pleasure but something bordering on not quite shame but.. something. Returning my gaze up towards Mr. Stump, I keep my eyes fixed on his, searching for anything that I could as I spoke, my voice wavering. “If you could relive one moment, what would it be? “

“I was a bit lost at nineteen and I wandered, slightly drunk and stupidly angry. I was quite off the rails for longer than I cared to admit after everything with Madeline and I wanted nothing more than to hurt someone, or be hurt, to have that emotional pain matched by the physical. I stumbled into a place not unlike Flame, honestly, and my entire world changed in the span of just a few hours. I’m sure you know very well what that is like, Angel.”

The first hard press of fingers again catches me off guard and pulls a near scream from my lips as I write on Mr. Stump’s lap, bucking my hips forward into both his touch and the hard length of his cock that teases me with each movement. I could barely hear his words through the blood rushing in my ears; the haze of lust that had settled, clouding my mind. It took everything in me to focus on the man before me, forcing my eyes open to watch as he took a breath. My vision cleared nearly instantly, and I froze, captivated as I watched emotions play almost freely across his face, usually so guarded and restrained. My hands, seemingly of their own accord slip almost hesitantly up his chest to rest gently behind his neck as I search clouded blue eyes for something, anything that would be a hint as to what was going on behind their depths. My lip finds it’s way between my teeth again as I listen, my movements slowing as the brief story unfolds. There is something behind the words, something dark and tinged with sadness. I falter slightly, my hips stalling as I brush a thumb over a stubble covered cheek and fought to find my voice. “I’m sorry if I overstepped, Sir, but thank you.” The words, although brief, resonated deeply within me and the small smile on my face matched that on Mr. Stump’s as I returned my gaze upward, struggling to formulate my next question. “What is your favorite quote?”

“You could never overstep, Angel.” Clever fingers twist and tease as the swinging chain is tightened again, sending pinpricks of pain shooting through me to entwine with the desire that is nearly overwhelming. “And the rest is rust and stardust…”

The increased pressure between my legs has me nearly squirming with each touch, and I squeeze my thighs together as best as I can while straddling Mr. Stump’s lap. Each thrust of his fingers, the teasing swipe of a thumb brings me closer and closer to that edge of pleasure. Pushing the need down, I exhale hard, the sound shaking and broken as I force myself to look up, searching his face. The quote is familiar although in my passion laced haze it takes a moment to place it but when I finally do, it brings a wider smile to my face. Rocking my hips easily with the movement of his talented fingers, I swallow before I can speak, and when the word finally comes out, it is cracked and broken. “Lolita.” A small laugh fades to a moan as I shift just right and shudder in pleasure. “ What was the first thing that went through your mind when you woke up this morning?”

“My good girl. And the first thing was probably that I need a shower. One more, Angel.”

Those two words, held so much behind them. Before I had walked through those doors for the first time, they had never really meant anything to me but since then… they spoke volumes. They were so much more than words. Praise, respect and safety were woven in them, along with a myriad of other things that I could barely begin to decipher at this moment. The only thing I focused on was the man below me, his hands, his warmth, the expression on his face as I struggled against myself to stay in check, fending off my need as long as I could. The warmth pooling in my lower abdomen with each thrust signaled that I was very, very close to that edge but I knew, in the back of my head, that I wouldn’t let go until permission was given. Soft whimpers gave way to broken cries as I rocked against Mr. Stump, aching to please him. My mind, at one point swirling with questions, was nearly blank. Trembling with need, I opened my eyes to meet the hungry, gaze of the man that held not only my trust but my pleasure and essentially my body in his hands, all given willingly. My breath catches in a series of gasps as I stutter out the only words that I could seem to form. The question was one that, given any other situation, I would have never asked but rationality had long ago taken flight and given way to nothing but need; need to please, need to feel…everything but this moment and Mr. Stump fell away easily as I nearly moaned the last question, the biggest risk that I had taken all night. “Will you kiss me, Sir?”

There is a sudden heaviness in the air, the tension almost palpable before Mr. Stump leans in, catching my lips. The sudden movement sends me slightly off guard but was perfect in the same second, and I returned the eager kiss, my short nails sliding along the back of Mr. Stump’s neck as our tongues meet and tease, my quiet cries muffled into his mouth. I was his, in this moment there was no possible way I could deny that, nor would I want to. 

“Come for me, Angel.” The words were low and demanding; perfect. 

I shifted to press flush against him just seconds before the muffled command, the fingers inside me thrusting perfectly, each one just barely harder than the last. That last thread of control snapped at the words and I fell apart, screams quieted by the lips against mine as my eyes close and my body rocked with pleasure that Mr. Stump held, exclusively. I writhed against him wantonly, aching to please him even through the haze of my own lust, needing what, exactly, I did not know, and my gasps were stifled against his lips as I pressed my legs as tightly together as I could, my knees on either side of Mr. Stump’s hips.

“Good girl, Angel, that was amazing. I’m proud of you. I think, however, you owe me some tasks.” 

My cries quieted to stifled gasps and my body went limp against Mr. Stump’s solid form, as I struggled to slow my breathing, my head still spinning. Forehead resting against his shoulder for a single moment, I finally forced my eyes open and lift my head to meet blue eyes that twinkled with mischief and something darker, although far from frightening. Opening my mouth to speak, the motion is halted as a single, wet finger slides across my lip and I dart my tongue out, surprised by the slight sweetness. My cheeks, bright already, warmed further and I tossed my tangled hair from my eyes as I give a small nod, anticipation already growing within my still trembling body. My fingers absently trailed along the back of Mr. Stump’s neck as I waited for my still fogged brain to communicate properly with my mouth. “I do, Sir, anything you wish.  
Gentle fingers moved to brush tangled hair from my eyes, one hand moving down to cup my cheek. “Beautiful. Now, I want you to go over to my desk and retrieve the paddle that is in the upper right drawer. On your hands and knees.” 

“ Yes, Sir.” I nodded slightly as I slipped off his lap on still trembling limbs before sinking to the floor. My movements were carefully measured as I crawled slowly towards the desk. The carpet was, at first, soft and cushioned beneath my knees, but it quickly gave way to the polished hardwood of the floor past the center of the room. Each movement stung just slightly, the twinge of pain going far to bring me back down from the remnants of the soaring high that I had just experienced. I kept my head down, my hair, with it’s ridiculous extensions still clipped in, nearly brushed the floor, until I reach the large desk. Rising, but only to my knees, I glance over the immaculate surface, the wood and metal of the pulls cool beneath my fingers until my eyes rest on the paddle. Lifting my gaze to rest on Mr. Stump, still sitting so very composed on the couch, I rest my hand on the polished wood.” How would you like me to return, Sir? 

“The same way, please.” There isn’t a moment of pause before he answers, leaning back and crossing his legs, his gaze never wavering from me. 

I didn’t speak, simply nodding as I grasp the heavy implement in my hand. The wood was smooth and comforting, the handle fitting easily in my small hand. The first few strides, as it were, were a bit awkward as I fought to balance the item and move at the same time. My head down, I make the return trip just as I had the first, quickly gathering my bearings. Once I arrived back at the couch, I sat up, my behind resting back on my feet and the paddle resting almost reverently on both of my out stretched hands. I kept my head down, hair falling in a curtain around my face, my thoughts whirling with anticipation and curiosity as I worried my lip, still tinged with slight sweetness, between my teeth. 

Mr. Stump easily takes the paddle from my hands before patting his lap once again, his smile small but intoxicating. “Over my knees, Angel. Now.”   
*The words were spoken softly, but there was a command inherent in the tone, one that I respected with all that was in me, and I nodded again, silently, as I rose and caught Mr. Stump’s gaze for an instant before laying myself carefully over his knees, my hands resting carefully on the floor and my behind centered in his lap. Bracing my palms flat on the floor, I shake my head, unable to see past the sheet of blonde hair that obscured my vision as I waited, patiently.

“I hope your interrogation was worth it, Charleigh, because I will be cashing in on every task in spades.” The wood was warm and cool as it gently stroked over the gentle curve of my behind, the tender motion allowing me to relax further, the twinge of anxiety dissipating quickly as I exhale a quiet sigh. The soft breath is cut off, transforming to a stunned cry as the paddle strikes with a jolting blow against one cheek, sending my entire body forward. It burned instantly, the pain quick as heat spread across the skin immediately traveling through my entire body. Before I could register, another blow was delivered, this time to the opposite cheek, equally as hard. The action drew yet another muffled cry from deep in my chest and I lifted my head as the beautiful burn traveled through my system, and that familiar, deep voice registered in my ears, only two words needed for my response. “Yes, Sir” Despite the brevity, the words, six simple letters, contained not only my permission, but my anticipation and trust, in equal measure. My fingers pressed against the plush carpet as I waited with baited breath for the next action, be it another blow or another instruction, I welcomed it with all that I was.

The next blow, though I was prepared for it, still rocked me forward with not only surprise and pain but pleasure as well, just below the surface. I could feel the heat spread across my ass, and the welts form, no doubt bruises as well, in time. Being here, resting on Mr. Stump’s lap as he controls the second portion of the give and take that we had been playing with all evening, was an exquisite dance of sorts, and I longed to continue it with each breath I took. I may not have known the exact steps yet, but I followed well and these moments, one holding nothing but possibilities had me hanging on edge for whatever was next.

Seven in total, each one delivered swiftly and with an unwavering precision, harder than the last bit perfectly balanced to pull both pleasure and pain with every strike, had me nearly shaking. My eyes stung with tears, though the pain was far from the reason why. Despite living my life in a veritable spotlight, a position that would make anyone uncomfortable, and it did, I had never felt more vulnerable than I did in this moment. I had also, however, never felt more safe, either with myself or with another person, and it was that feeling, that knowledge of being exactly where I should that stirred the emotion in me; the pain was secondary. I was safe and trusted in the man whose lap I was laid over with everything in my being. 

Even as the paddle was set aside and a hand smoothed over the painful marks that covered my ass, I pressed into the touch, craving the comfort that it brought, that safety that only Mr. Stump could provide as his soothing voice drifted to my ears. 

“That’s my Good Girl.”


	31. Chapter Thirty One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's a light on in Chicago...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well. This is a thing. It was originally something else entirely but... These folks didn't want to cooperate. SO. 
> 
> Not at all betaed so mistakes, and I am sure there are many, are mine all mine. 
> 
> Comments, kudos and questions make me smile like Pete in a room full of puppies. 
> 
> As always, this is for Ashes_And_Flames because magic. 
> 
> Much thanks and love go to SnitchesAndTalkers for endless encouragement and dealing with my ridiculous moments and overly intense research ideas. 
> 
> Thank you and all the kitty cat cuddles to Laudanum_Cafe for being amazing and sharing all the tales. 
> 
> Thanks for reading, y'all, I hope you enjoy. 
> 
> Aural Satisfaction is 'Wait' by M83 just because.

My foot tapped compulsively against the floor, the heel of my strappy sandal clicking out an almost melodic, staccato rhythm. 

“Charleigh, stop that this instant.” My mother’s voice was harsh despite the whisper, any hint of the southern drawl that had been there moments before gone, replaced instead by a slight hint of a Boston accent, developed from decades of living in the city. It was amusing, from a psychological perspective, how she deployed her accent. At these functions, it almost acted like another piece of jewelry, easily put on to impress people and then taken off in a blink when it was no longer needed. Or when people's eyes weren’t on her. As much as I loved my family, and I did, I was more than quick to tire of them and the bi-monthly company were more than I was beginning to be able to stand. 

Between my interviews and picking up five classes a week for a Cassadee who was on maternity leave, my patience and time was wearing thin. The last thing I wanted or needed was a trip with my parents. Granted, I had planned on traveling to attend the wedding of one of my oldest friends anyway but my parents being there just added stress to what should have been a fun event. And of course that was what had happened. They had appeared in a flurry of Chanel No. 5 and superiority, bustling into my room at The Langham with engraved invitations and garment bags in hand, dripping condensation and asking why I didn’t want to stay at The Waldorf Astoria with them. I managed, somehow to refrain from telling them because I wanted to stay as far away from them as possible. My parents had good intentions, sort of, and I couldn’t fault them no matter how much I wanted to. They tried, in their own way, and I had never actually wanted for anything. I also couldn’t say no to them which was what brought me here.

The MCA was beautiful, just as it had been on my last visit, although now every surface was covered with elegant arrangements of purple and cream flowers, with matching blooms and lights suspended from the ceiling and scattered across the white linen draped tables. The sunset outside the wall of windows provided an almost other-worldly glow to the entire room, including the occupants; glinting off of sequins, beads and jewels. There was probably enough money in here, just in the women’s jewlery, than most families made in an entire year, maybe two. I did have to give Ashley credit, her taste was impeccable and the entire wedding thus far had been absolutely perfect. As long as you didn’t look to hard that is. 

And it was easy not to look too hard in this space. Everything was beautiful; the people, the art, the decorations. The literal who’s who of Chicago had turned out for Ashley and Tim’s wedding, leaving a trail of money, photo opportunities and networking possibilities in their wake. 

Beneath the surface; behind the well maintained smiles and perfectly coiffed hair there were dark secrets, as there were in any society. If you looked hard enough you could see the connections between people; who leaned a little too closely, who wasn’t close enough. It was ridiculous and, at the risk of sounding like a spoiled brat, I was sick of it. “If you’ll excuse me, Mother, I just need some air.”

Downing my glass of champagne in one gulp, I shake my head, more for courage than anything else and push back quietly from the table, my clutch clasped in my hands. I gave my mother another look, wholly unsurprised at the shock on her face. I ignored it as I gathered the pleated silk skirt of my gown, designed by none other than the bride herself, in my hands and headed towards the doors towards the Kern Terrace, slipping through them quietly. 

The Chicago night air held just the hint of a chill and I was thankful for it as I made my way through the sculpture garden, all of the trees perfectly lit with twinkling fairy lights and blossoms matching those inside. Only Ashley. She had been a stickler for detail as long as I could remember, and probably planning this very night even longer than that. I brushed a tendril of hair from my eyes as I leaned against a railing, dropping my purse down and letting my gaze wander over the colors of the sunset over Lake Michigan. 

Lost in the view, I heard footsteps on the hardwood of the gazebo but paid it little to no mind. It had been a very long day and small talk was the last thing that was on my to-do list. I would be polite, as was dictated, but nothing more. 

“Evening, Angel.” The hand on my waist startled me slightly, my spine going ramrod straight, but the words that were crooned into my ear had me very nearly melting as I turned in the small space to meet a pair of very familiar eyes, my smile genuine despite the nerves that suddenly jangled. 

“Good evening, Sir, Mr. Wentz. ” My words were quiet, throat gone dry with surprise, and I could feel warmth spread up my neck and over my cheeks as a I studied both men for a moment. Unsurprisingly, they looked wonderful, tuxedos nothing short of perfect and a pair of sly grins. It was absolutely divine. It had been a few weeks, far too many, since I had last seen either of them and while the bruises had faded, the memories had not in the slightest and had, in fact, been appearing in dreams with more frequency over the last few nights. “It's wonderful to see you both.” 

“Formalities are far from necessary.” Mr. Wentz spoke with a grin, the mischief clear in his voice. “Pete. Patrick. Even ground, Sweetheart.” 

Patrick laughed quietly and shook his head, fingers gripping my waist for just a moment before he pulled away, his elbow on the rail. “He does have a way with words, doesn’t he? And yes, please. There is no need for formalities tonight. You look absolutely beautiful by the way. Ashley does always seem to do right by you.” 

Pete, for his part, just smiled and leaned against the railing beside me, a grin on his face as he looked out over the lake. 

I watched, almost enthralled with his surprisingly graceful movements, as I seemed to be every time we met. It took me a moment to find my voice after the compliment and I smoothed my hands over my skirt, the fabric cool beneath them. “ Thank you, Patrick. She is incredible, to say the least. I managed to luck out. How have you been? It feels as though it has been ages, since I have seen either of you, which sounds quite silly to say aloud. “ 

Familiar fingers reached up to tuck the always defiant tendril of hair that slipped free from my chignon behind my ear, lingering for just a moment on my cheek. I allowed myself a moment to lean into the tender touch of the gentleman that had seemingly come out of nowhere, and relished in the gentle brush of fingers across my skin. It was familiar and almost shockingly intimate for such a simple touch. ““It has been far too long, yes. Are you here alone, Angel?” When he finally pulled his hand away, I glanced back up with a warm smile as I pondered his words, both the statement and question. much to Pete’s delight if his laugh was anything to go by. He received a glare from Patrick for that, but there was a smile on his face. 

 

“ I’ve been meaning to call but between my parents and work things simply got out of my grasp.” Glancing down at my toes just barely peeking out from beneath the hem of my gown, I study them for the briefest of moments. They were far from lovely but, at my mother's demand, I had accompanied her to the spa and had them painted although I refused to allow any implements near them. I was, as were all dancers, ridiculously protective over my feet and toes. The silver polish was my choice, and matched the color on my fingers, much to my mother’s disappointment. “Technically, I’m here alone, but my parents flew into town for the wedding as well, although I was not expecting them. Ashley and I have known each other since preschool, and our parents for even longer than that. How about yourself, are you alone?” 

“Not technically alone, Sweetheart.” Pete’s voice was positively dripping with mirth, and my cheeks heated as I looked at him over my shoulder. He didn’t seem the slightest bit put out,, and leaned to press a kiss to my head. “I know, I pale in comparison to Trick, especially in a tux. Tim insisted though, demanding, pretentious bastard that he is. How he ended up with someone as amazing as Ashley, I will never know.” 

Patrick, for his part, simply gave a long suffering sigh and adjusted the fedora that sat on his head. “Technically, I am here alone, because Pete received his own invitation, but you know how semantics are at events like this.” 

I gave a nod, shifting slightly at the implications and letting my gaze drift for a moment, until gentle fingers tucked under my chin and pulled my attention back to where I honestly wanted it to be. “I have missed you, Angel. We both have.”

The soft touch had me closing my eyes at the simple delight of it, enjoying it more than I probably should have, before I met his Patrick’s once again. My smile slipped just slightly as his hand slipped from my chin and I immediately missed the contact, as simple as it was. I was able to pick up the simple statement that was in his words, and dipped my head in a nod. “As soon as things settle down and I should have much more free time, and making an appointment will be one of the first things that I do.” My gaze darted from Patrick to the Pete and then the doors down the way as someone slipped through them, the sounds of laughter and the soft strings just barely drifting on the gentle breeze. 

Patrick grinned, bright in the rapidly darkening dusk and leaned in closer, his lips almost brushing my ear.” Good girl. 

The praise made me smile brightly and I tilted my chin up with pride. I had never known the power that two simple words could have but coming from the right person they could speak more than an entire monologue. My hands dropped from my skirt and I fought the urge to reach out and touch the gentleman before me, remembering my place even as Pete’s hand rested on my arm with a gentle squeeze. “Thank you for that, it means quite a lot. I never realized how much I could miss something quite so much after such a short time.” The words took far more courage to say than I knew that I could have had and I ran my tongue over my dry lips as I shivered in the chilly breeze. “I hope you both have bee-” My words were cut off by a very, very familiar voice coming up the walk, and my eyes darted towards the familiar forms of my parents as they approached the stairs. “Oh fuck.”

Pete’s laugh is barely restrained and Patrick whispered quietly as he followed my gaze. “Your parents, I’m assuming?’ 

 

Standing up straight more for my parents benefit than mine, I shift my weight from foot to foot as my hands slide over my hair. The voice at my ear was both questioning and comforting in the same measure and I turn slightly to face first Patrick and then Pete with a small nod, my voice quiet. “Yes. I’m sorry. They are a bit trying.” I could hear my mother’s heels clicking along the path and turned towards them with a slightly forced smile. “Mother, father. Are you enjoying the reception?” The question was simple and very carefully worded as my gaze darted between my parents.

”Of course we are, Charleigh James. It may be a bit gaudy but Ashley has always been eccentric in her tastes.” My mother’s voice was cold but not harsh, the southern accent still mostly hidden until she turned her attention to the men standing beside me. “ Are you planning on introducing us to your acquaintances, Charleigh?” Fighting a sigh, I force a smile and step back just slightly, gesturing between Patrick, Pete and my parents.* Mother and Father, this is Mr. Patrick Stump and Mr. Peter Wentz. Mr. Stump, Mr. Wentz this is Senator and District Attorney Gabriel, my parents.” The introductions were simple and a bit rushed as I glanced between the three parties.

My mother, ever polite, nodded and almost painstakingly obviously looked over both gentlemen. “Charlene, and my husband James. It’s a pleasure Mr. Stump, Mr. Wentz.”

Patrick smiled charmingly and took my mother’s hand, pressing a kiss to the back of it. “It’s a pleasure, Mrs. Gabriel, Charleigh has told me so much about you. And, if I may say so, it is easy to see where Charleigh gets her good looks from.” The lies were smooth as silk, leaving my mother looking almost off balance as he turned to my father with an outstretched hand. “Senator, it is a pleasure, Sir.” My father looked delighted at the firm handshake and I could see him sizing Patrick up the entire time. 

Pete, never one to be upstaged, grinned and stepped from his position against the railing to greet my mother properly. “Mrs. Gabriel, it is a pleasure. I believe you were a guest lecturer in one of my courses at DePaul Law. I never forget a lovely face.” His was silver-tongued and tossed off the slightest wink at Patrick as he turned attention to my father. “And Senator, it is good to see you again, it must be going on a decade now?” 

My cheeks flushed brightly at the easy compliment even though my mother’s smile was nearly blinding despite the darkness. Shifting almost imperceptibly closer to Patrick as I spoke, I wrung my fingers together. 

“That is very kind of you, Mr. Stump, thank you. And DePaul, Mr. Wentz, always did hold a special place in my heart. ” Charlene, as proper as ever, glanced between Patrick, Pete and I as my father stood almost silently by her side.

‘Tell me, Gentlemen, how do you know our Charleigh?” The accent was back in full force, and were it not for the chill in the air, we could have been in Georgia. My mother was never one for beating around the bush, and I bit my tongue as the blood rushed from my face, glancing up at the gentlemen behind me who seemed, not surprisingly, to exude confidence and charm despite the awkwardness of the situation.

Patrick gave another winning smile and Pete rested a hand easily against the small of my back, his fingers warm through the lace that covered my skin. “Pete and I are in Training and retention for a rather discriminating business in Las Vegas and Charleigh happened to come in for an interview. Although I would be remiss if I didn’t mention seeing her dance at a benefit, it was an exceptional experience.” The lies rolled off of Patrick’s tongue as smooth as honey, and I was thankful for the twilight as my cheeks pinked. Pete, for his part, managed to keep his smile to an appropriate level, and tapped two of his fingers gently against the small of my back in quiet support. 

I shot Patrick a thankful glance, nodding my head slightly in unspoken thanks before returning my attention back to my parents. My father ,who had been silent until now, gave a small smile and nodded at Patrick as he slipped his hands into his tuxedo pockets. “Ashley’s father was in law school with Charlene and I. Good family, as is Tim’s.” The statements were simple but loaded as he draped an arm over my mother’s shoulders. “ We are very proud of our Charleigh, and so glad other people can see that as well.” My father was not one for praise unless he meant it and the show of emotion was entirely uncharacteristic for him and brought a smile to my face.

“Thank you, Dad, that is very sw-” My words were broken by the opening of a door and a slender form draped in a dark purple gown waved us back over.

“Come on y’all, you’re gonna miss the speeches!” Both thankful and dreading the return to the Atrium, I glanced up at Patrick and then Pete as my parents turned and headed towards the steps, my voice quiet as I followed after them. “Thank you, Both.” 

“It was nothing, Angel. Parents can be trying. And yours are Assholes, in case you didn’t know.” As my parents disappeared towards the doors, Pete finally let out a laugh, dropping a kiss to my head as Patrick batted his hand from it’s place at my back to rest his own in the same spot as we meandered towards the entrance again. 

Mr. Stump’s hand was warm and comforting through the delicate lace and buttons that covered my back, the simple gesture immensely comforting. The tension seemed to melt away at the touch as words ghosted across my ear and I fought a small smile even as I stopped to take his offered arm, nodding slightly, my voice soft as we entered the ballroom. I pointedly skirted the edge of the room opposite my parents, keeping my head down as I spoke just loud enough to be heard over the low hum of the other guests conversations.

“You have no clue how absolutely accurate that is, thank you.” My eyes darted over the crowd, well dressed guests mingling with purple clad bridesmaids as people began to settle into their seats for what promised to be nothing short of a series of monotonous speeches. “Is it horrible that I don’t want to listen?”

Pete laughed from my other side and shook his head. “Not at all, Sweetheart. Weddings get boring after the champagne starts flowing, at least all the ones I have been to do. Always the same tired jokes and boring speeches. I can think of significantly better uses of our time.” There was no mistaking the meaning behind his words and Patrick ducked his head to hide his smile. 

“You are absolutely incorrigible, Peter. I swear to god, I can’t take you anywhere. Ignore him, Angel, he is a dirty little man. Would you be missed if you were to simply get caught up in the crowd?” 

Leaning back against Patrick’s side I give a small nod at Pete. “I’m used to formalities, to say the least, even if they aren’t exactly preference. As for being missed, well, who knows.” Brushing my hands over my skirt, I curse quietly under my breath as flatware tinkled against crystal. “I left my purse outside, if you’ll excuse me for just a moment? 

Patrick’s hand slides easily around my arm as I turned to make my way back to the doors, Pete settling easily on the other side. “Let us walk with you? It is a bit stifling in here…”

Thank you, I would like that very much. . *Carefully skirting the edge of the room back towards the french doors, I slip through them as quietly as I can, casting a glance back at my parents table where they sat, seemingly enthralled with the speeches. They always had been good at putting on a front. Slipping my arm through first Patrick’s offered arm and then Pete’s, I head up the walkway at a leisurely pace. “I appreciate the company, even if it isn’t necessary.” Glancing up at the stars, a smile pulls at my lips. “ It’s a beautiful night, I don’t think Ashley and Tim could have had a better one if they had somehow been able to orchestrate it. “

“From what I’ve heard, not even mother nature would be willing to defy Ashley's wishes today, which is exactly as it should be. She and Tim are good fucking people and god knows there is a lack of them in this world.” The words were casual as we strolled, but there was something tense in Pete’s voice that brought me pause. 

 

“ I do think that months may be an understatement. Ashley has had sketches of her wedding gown since we were in fourth grade. If the weather even dared to come in between her and the dream she has been planning, I couldn’t begin to imagine the consequences.” My words were light and held a hint of laughter with them as I grabbed my purse from the bench that it sat on, turning back towards the gentleman that had accompanied me with a soft smile.

They were leaning close to each other, Patrick’s hand resting easily on Pete’s cheek, their words far too quiet for me to hear. It was stunning, really, and still caught me off guard at times when I was privy to such intimate moments. I could make out Pete’s whispered ‘Trust me’ as he pulled back, eyes gleaming and extended a hand to me. 

“Sweetheart, walk with us?” I would never turn down such a request and stood immediately taking Pete’s hand as Patrick slid an arm around my waist. The sculpture garden was lovely in the dark, fairy lights twinkling and the occasional echo of polite applause and laughter mingling with the delicate strings from the windows of the atrium as the speeches and festivities continued behind the elegant doors. 

“It would seem, Patrick, that we are all alone out here.” Pete’s voice carried more than a hint of suggestion, and his grin was wide as we all came to a stop in a far corner of the garden, dark and secluded; a lovely hide away amongst the glitz and glamor that was being unfurled not so far away. 

“Imagine that.” Patrick’s response was dry although I could see the tenderness in his eyes as he looked at Pete. The sun had set, the oranges and pinks that had streaked the sky giving way to dusky violet and inky black that highlighted the city lights beyond . 

“Oh I have, many times.” The words were simple and quiet, cut off as Pete pressed his lips to Patrick’s in a kiss both heated and tender. 

“What are you planning, Peter?” Patrick’s voice was slightly rough as he pulled away, ignoring Pete’s hands as they worked open the buttons on his vest and pushed it off, his suspenders following quickly ,and resting a hand on the shining buckle of his belt. “Peter…” There was the slightest note of warning in Patrick’s voice but Pete just grinned and stepped back, beckoning me with a crook of his fingers. 

Holding Pete’s warm gaze, I stepped closer, depositing my clutch back down as a warm arm slipped over my shoulders and pulled me in tight, his lips warm against my ear. “Would you like to make our boy obscenely happy, Sweetheart?” The words were quiet, far too much so for Patrick to hear, and I darted my gaze toward him, although he simply stood back, bemused at Pete’s antics. 

“I would.” The response came even before I had fully processed the weight of Pete’s words and he was pressing his lips against my neck; I could feel his smile. 

“Good. We’ve played this game before. On your knees if you wouldn’t mind. Your lovely dress may get a bit dirty but so will my pants. It will be worth it, I promise.” 

I shook my head, laughing quietly at Pete’s candor and twisted to face him, only to meet his lips in a soft kiss. 

“Do you trust me, Sweetheart?” Gone was any sense of teasing or laughter in Pete’s tone, replaced by a seriousness that I only ever heard at Flame. 

“With my life.” The answer was automatic and honest, earning me another gentle kiss. 

“Thank you. Go have fun with our boy, I promise it will be worth it.” A nip at my ear and Pete was off slipping easily behind a slightly confused and endlessly put out Patrick, lips at his neck above the starched collar of his shirt and hands on his belt. 

“Peter, if you don’t explain to me what you are- fuck.” The demand died off in a quiet moan as Pete worked Patrick’s belt open, at the same time that I sank down to my knees in front of him, my skirt pooling on the ground. Patrick’s hand rested in my cheek, tilting my head up just slightly so I could meet his eyes. “Angel?” 

I smiled almost hesitantly, popping open the button on Patrick’s pants and lowering the zipper while Pate pushed the fabric down to his knees, dragging his boxers along for the journey. 

“This is bordering on fucking trashy, you know that right?” Patrick’s words were rough as Pete’s hand wrapped around his already half hard cock. 

“Have you ever expected any less from me, Trick? And Sweetheart could use just a little bit of debauchery. Don’t even try and deny it, it won’t work.” 

“You have a bit of an advantage at the moment, Peter.” The fondness was back in Patrick’s voice and his thumb brushed across my cheek as I leaned in closer, wetting my dry lips and then teasing my tongue out over that same little freckle on Patrick’s cock that I had explored what felt like forever ago. “Jesus christ.” 

Pleased with the response, I repeated the action, twisting my hands in the folds of my skirt as Patrick’s fingers slipped up to rest easily in my hair. “You are going to be the death of me, Charleigh.” 

“It’ll be a good way to go, at least.” Pete was resting his chin on Patrick’s shoulder, looking down at me with a wicked gleam in his eye as he started smoothly jerking Patrick’s prick, earning a low groan. 

“The best way, I think.” There was a wistfulness to Patrick’s words that belied the forced gruffness in his tone and I couldn’t help but smile as I leaned in again, pushing up on my knees to lick along the length of Patrick’s cock, catching Pete’s finger in the process and earning quiet grains from both of them. 

Slipping my tongue back along that same freckle for just a second, I steadied my slightly frayed nerves and closed my lips over the head of Patrick’’s cock, sliding down slowly until I met Pete’s hand. 

“Fuck.” The single word was probably a bit louder than intended and the fingers in my hair twisted just the slightest bit as I looked up to meet Patrick’s eyes as I slowly moved with the gentle pull of his hand, into an easy bob along his length. 

“Pretty, pretty, pretty.” Pete’s words drifted to my ears, just a bit louder than Patrick’s. “Pretty girl and a pretty cock. This is kind of a dream of mine.” There was a slight shuffling and I dropped my gaze from Patrick’s eyes for just a moment to catch sight of Pete’s slightly disheveled hair in my line of sight as he crouched down behind Patrick, winking in a manner that managed to be both lewd and insouciant. 

“Peter if you don’t- Jesus fuck!” Patrick nearly shouted, his voice catching in a moan as his hips bucked forward. “You beautiful asshole.” 

There was no reply, although it didn’t take me an extensive amount of imagining to figure out why, exactly, and I shivered against the breeze, moving easily with rhythm set by Patrick’s hand in my hair and the rock of hips in time with the probing of Pete’s tongue.

Stifled moans gasps slowly gave way to uninhibited moans as Patrick slowly went from being the composed gentleman who had charmed my parents to another man entirely, head tossed back and beautiful, filthy words spilling from his lips into the Chicago night. Shifting on my knees, I hummed gently around the length of his cock and got a sharp groan for my efforts, even as his hand tugged at my hair, pulling my mouth away from his prick with an obscene pop. 

“Pete. Stop.” Though breathy, the command was evident in Patrick’s voice and I felt the shift in Patrick’s weight as Pete moved back, leaning around his legs to rest his head on my shoulder, his voice innocent and light. 

“You sound a little bit out of breath, Trick, you okay?”

“Fuck off, Pete.” There was care in the words and Patrick’s free hand stroked Pete’s cheek. “As much as I really fucking want to continue this, I am not going to do so here. Only partially because I have no desire to ruin Charleigh’s lovely dress. Mostly, it’s because I am not nearly a smuch of an exhibitionist as you.” He carefully redressed as he spoke, although the look of frustration as he zipped his pants before offering me a hand up was not missed. “Come back to our suite, Angel? You don’t have to of course.”

I couldn’t help but smile as I stood, carefully adjusting Patrick’s suspenders, before smoothing my hair. “I’d love to, I just have to say goodnight to my parents first.” I wrinkled my nose at the thought, no doubt looking for all the world like a petulant child and Pete laughed, brushing off the knees of his tuxedo pants. 

“I don’t pity you on that one, Sweetheart. Then again, I saved myself from that issue by just not acknowledging min were here. It is a win all around.” 

“Yes, Pete, but you are an insolent little bastard.” Having apparently decided that we were fit to be seen by the whole of Chicago society again, Patrick smoothed a hand over my hair and easily steered us back towards the atrium doors. “Go say goodnight, we’ll meet you out front Angel.” His tone was low, flirting with the darkness that crept in behind closed doors at Flame and I told myself I would chalk my shivers up to the night air if asked. 

“Yes, Sir.” The answer was automatic, as was my small smile as I wound my way through the well dressed elite of Chicago towards my parents table. My mother was, as I realized on my approach, deep in conversation, her laugh ringing out just as I reached the table. 

“There you are, Charleigh James, I was about to send out a search party.” Although her tone was light, almost carefree, there was just enough of an edge to the words that I knew the meaning behind them. 

“ I’m sorry Mother, I’m actually not feeling very well. I think it might be the roses. I got a bit caught up in the fresh air.” It was a bold faced lie, but one I was not above using on every occasion I could, and my mother’s face softened into genuine concern. 

“Do you need a doctor, Cricket? I think I saw-” 

“No, no thank you, Mother, I think I am just going to go back to my room if you can spare me.” I pushed just a bit of a wheeze into my voice for good effect and my Mother nodded, standing to pull me into a hug, a warm and honest gesture for her. 

I smiled, genuinely this time, as I pulled back and reached for my purse, only to be knocked slightly off kilter by someone propelling against my back, as though they hadn’t quite stopped running fast enough, and I bumped into the table, rattling the china and crystal.

“I’m so sorry!” The apology was a small voice, sweet and with a definite Chicago accent. Somehow being ran into was easier when it was a child. “I shouldn’t have been running but I got a little carried away. Are you alright, Ma’am?” The girl’s rapid fire questions were endearing and I smiled as I straightened up, turning to face her. 

It took everything in me not to gasp as I took in the girl who had caused my fall; Dressed in an age appropriate navy dress, and shining black shoes, her long red hair hung down her back in soft curls, held back from her face by a headband. Her skin was pale, almost more so than mine and her lips were twisted into a worried frown. It was her eyes though, that threw me the most; a swirling, almost mercurial blue, there was a ring around the iris that gave them a nearly green cast in the soft lighting. I would know them anywhere. 

“I’m alright, I promise, it’s alright. I think we all have moments where things can get away from us. No harm done, I promise.” I spoke in carefully measured tones even as my mind spun. 

“Thank you, Ma’am. My Mom was just-”

“There you are! I thought I told you not to run- oh! Charleigh. And Mrs. Gabriel. Hello.” The voice was familiar, even though I hadn’t heard it in years; it made my stomach churn and it took everything in me to keep from showing it. 

“Madeline! Hello, my dear. Don’t you look amazing.” My mother was on her feet in a flash, embracing the redhead who had appeared out of seemingly nowhere. 

“Good evening, Mrs. Gabriel. Thank you for your kind words, you look lovely as ever.” Madeline seemed honest, about that at least, and I ignored her while surreptitiously glancing over at the girl who could only be one person. 

“You are too sweet, Madeline, you always have been. And who do we have here?” The question, as well as the slightest hint of judgement.

“Bronte Vaughn Duchossois, Ma’am. It’s a pleasure to meet you.” There was a formality behind the girl’s words as she spoke, but her tone belied something that was approaching a charmed boredom with the proceedings and I couldn’t help but smile as my mother regained her composure. 

“The pleasure is all mine, Bronte. I’m Charlene Gabriel and this is my daughter Charleigh.” My mother gestured to me and I gave the requisite smile, all bright teeth and feigned light because I had no other choice. “We have known your mom for years now, she and Charleigh used to go to tea when they were your age.” The memories were bittersweet in many ways, and I hid my sigh. 

“It’s very nice to meet you, Bronte, I wish I could stay longer but unfortunately my allergies are getting to me. “ The words were true in more than one sense, and my mother’s words were still ringing in my ears as I pumped some extra sincerity in my voice. “Are you and Bronte free tomorrow afternoon? Maybe we could Have tea at The Drake and properly catch up?” 

The girl’s eyes widened in delight and I couldn’t help my smile in response, and I raised a brow in question towards Madeline, fighting the nerves swirling in my stomach. What was I doing?

“Can we mom, please? I haven’t been to tea in so long and they have the best creme brulee. Pretty please?” Those blue eyes of Bronte’s went wide and she pouted just enough that Madeline’s face twitched into something resembling a smile and she rested a hand on her daughter’s head. 

“When you ask like that, how can I say no?” There was a genuine sweetness in her tone that I couldn’t seem to place with the things I knew of Madeline now but I couldn’t linger on it for long, not at the moment anyway. 

“Wonderful. I am just on my way out but how does one o’clock sound?” The question was addressed more to Bronte than Madeline, a fact that was not lost on my mother who watched with a keen eye. 

“That sounds perfect, Charleigh, thank you so much. I really look forward to it, it has been much too long.” The false sincerity was evident in Madeline’s voice, although there was a hint of something genuine in her words, and her smile was not entirely forced. 

“I look forward to it. If you’ll excuse me. Mother, Madeline, Bronte, it was lovely to see you all again, but I really am afraid I need to head out.” My smile was weak, and probably very forced, but it seemed to work and my mother clucked her tongue. 

“Feel better, Cricket, and get some rest. I’ll call Dr. Aaronson if you aren’t feeling any better tomorrow.” I smiled at my mother, giving a weak wave and was just about to turn when Bronte spoke up.

“Bye, Miss Charleigh. I am really looking forward to tomorrow, thank you so much.” There was so much delight in her voice, and a kindness that was more reminiscent of her father’s than she could ever know, that I paused and gave her a wave. 

“Me too, Bronte, me too.” My smile was genuine for the first time since the girl and her mother had literally stumbled back into my life and I knew that she could tell. 

Pushing aside the questions that swirled in my head, I made my way back through the atrium towards the main doors, my steps growing quicker as the crowd grew denser near the doors, the air heavy and hot with champagne, laughter and the heat of too many bodies. 

I nearly gasped as I finally pushed outside the night air cool and crisp on my skin as I regained my bearings, just as a warm hand settled on my wrist. 

“Are you alright,Charleigh?” There was nothing but concern in Patrick’s tone and reflected in his eyes as he gently laced his fingers through mine. 

“I’m okay, I’m fine I just- old friends, and memories you know?” While it wasn’t a lie, it was not the entire truth, nor was this the place for that conversation, but it worked for a moment and the worry on Patrick’s face faded slightly and he pressed his lips against the inside of my wrist, his eyes not leaving mine. 

“I do, believe me. Pete should have the ridiculous fucking car back by now, pretentious asshole. May I have the honor?” There was a lightness to Patrick’s voice, as he offered his arm with a bright smile. 

“Why thank you,kind Sir, you may indeed.” It was easy to laugh in that moment, the levity genuine as I slipped my arm in Patrick’s and headed towards the stairs, my skirt gathered in my free hand even as Pete’s braying laughter echoed up from the curb. I wasn’t sure in the slightest what the night was going to hold, but I knew, in that instant, that it would be one that I wouldn’t be soon to forget.


	32. Chapter Thirty Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which I make myself cry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This happened. I'm not sorry, but I did cry more than a little. In fact, I had to stop and cry and have some tea, so.... I guess I am a little bit sorry. But I hope you will forgive me. 
> 
> Comments, kudos and questions are more than welcome, in fact I kind of love them. Please send them? Like... pretty please? I have validation issues. Plus, if you chat with me over on tumblr, you will get all my awkward PLUS teasers and previews. Oh and praise. Think about it, eh?
> 
> As usual, this was not betaed, because I have an instant satisfaction problem. 
> 
> Dedicated to the wonderful Flames_And_Jade because she is magical and I adore her. 
> 
> Thank you, as always, to SnitchesAndTalkers and her amazing creeper skills. And also for being AWESOME.
> 
> Shout out to Laudanum_Cafe for being down with OPP and also PPFM. I feel like we need shirts. 
> 
> And thank you to, YOU, everyone who is taking the time out of their day to ready my story. It means more to me than you know. 
> 
> Aural Satisfaction is 'Accidental Babies' by Damien Rice. Sorry, not sorry. It may not work perfectly, but it fits in a way.

The ride back to the hotel was uneventful, the music drifting from the stereo the only sound as Pete navigated the streets expertly and I had to smile as we pulled up curbside at The Langham. I hadn’t even realized that we were staying in the same hotel. Kismet. 

There was something familiar about the sound of shoes against the expansive marble floors and I counted each step silently as we made our way to the elevator, my mind humming with revelations and questions. As soon as the doors closed behind us, Pete’s hands rested easily on my waist and his lips teased at my neck, the feeling quickly driving away any moments of worry that I may have had and replacing them with a blissful desire. 

Patrick smiled as I tilted my head back and his hand trailed over my cheek and down to trail gently against the lace that rested against my collarbone just as the elevator slowed to a stop and the doors opened to the expansive and expensive Infinity Suite, several floors above my own room. 

I couldn’t help my quiet laugh, the sound fading to a whimper as Pete grazed my skin with his teeth as he pulled away with an impish grin. 

“Conspicuous consumption at it’s finest. The Wentz name still carries some weight in this city. Well, the money does.” His laugh was low but genuine as he gestured for me to pass, Patrick resting his hand on my back to guide me into the living room. The floor to ceiling windows on two sides offered a stunning view of the skyline, lit up and sparkling against the velvet blackness of the night sky. “Make yourself at home, Sweetheart. I think I’m going to run a bath. We’re all small enough, we should fit easily.” He spoke with a leer that I could hear in his voice as he loosened his tie, and it was somehow charming, although coming from anyone else it would have bordered on lecherous. 

“It’s worth every penny, I would imagine.” I was genuine as I perched on the couch, quickly reaching for my foot to open the ankle straps of my shoes, aching to feel the cool marble of the floors and the plush carpet between my toes. I was stopped mid movement when Patrick knelt in front of me, his smile tender and hands sure as he unclasped and slipped the shoes off first one foot than the other with a gentleness that bordered on reverence, before setting them aside, looking up at me with the same beautiful blue eyes that I had seen on his daughter earlier in the evening. 

I swallowed past the lump in my throat and brushed his hair back from his forehead,his hat having been discarded on the low table smiling softly as he turned into the gentle touch, his lips brushing against my wrist. “I have to tell you something, and you may not like it.” My voice shook as I spoke and the concern that was written on Patrick’s face was immediate, as he pushed up and sat behind me, reaching for my hand. It still fascinated me how easily my hand disappeared beneath his. “Pete should probably be here as well.”

“Pete. Forget the bath for a second and come in here.” There was a suggestion of a demand in Patrick’s voice, although it wasn’t stern, more worried than anything, the same emotion reflected in his eyes. “Are you okay, Angel? Really and truly, because if not I can… well, I don’t know what, but I will do something. If it is us, or this, whatever it is we can-” 

I stopped Patrick’s words with a gentle shake of my head cutting him off. “No! No, it isn’t us, or this or anything to do with whatever this all is. This is wonderful, and I am okay, I promise. “ Patrick looked visibly relieved as Pete sat on the coffee table behind him, bare chested with his suspenders hanging loose against his pants. It was kind of a disarmingly good look for him. 

“What’s going on, Sweetheart? Whatever it is, we can figure something out.” There was an uncharacteristic softness to Pete’s voice, although it did not hide the worry behind the words. 

“Thank you, it’s not. Fuck.” I dropped my head, tugging my hand through my hair out of habit and yelping at the pull against the elegant updo it was still caught up in. Desperate for a distraction of some sort, and needing to appease my nerves, I started tugging at the stubborn and well anchored pins until they were all scattered across the couch, and I could run my hands through my hair uninhibited, my thoughts almost in some semblance of an order. 

That was gone as soon as I met Patrick’s gaze again and my heart fell at the worry behind his eyes, the same emotion clearly echoed on Pete’s face when I hazarded a glance at him. Beyond that, however, was something I had never seen from either of them in the months we had known each other; fear. 

“It’s not- everyone is okay, I just-” I tripped over my tongue, any plans of eloquence, or even something approaching it gone as Patrick ran his thumb over my wrist, a silent, comforting gesture that said more than most other people could with an entire soliloquy. “I met Bronte tonight. When I went back to say goodnight to my parents. She ran into me and then Madeline was there too and I was at a loss and I’m so sorry.” The words tumbled out before I could stop them, and I had to force my eyes back up from where they had been trained on my lap to meet Patrick’s gaze and my heart broke a little bit at the pain that was written so clearly on his face. “I didn’t know, I’m sorry.” 

Tears sting at my eyes as the silence in the room became almost overwhelming, no one able to speak quite yet as the information sunk in. The quiet was broken by the sound of shattering glass as Pete threw a vase of flowers, free of roses, against the fireplace where it exploded against the gold onyx fireplace. I jumped slightly and the sound seemed to startle Patrick from his thoughts. “She was there, at the wedding and I didn’t even know. I was in the same room with her?” Patrick’s voice was small and the hurt that echoed in it was soul deep. 

I couldn’t do anything but nod, although I ached to pull him close and comfort him in some way. Pete, however, was not nearly as meek as I was, pushing off of the coffee table and drawing Patrick into his arms in a tight embrace. “That woman is a fucking cunt, Trick. I’m so fucking sorry.” There was nothing less that raw hatred in Pete’s voice and and undercurrent of hurt for the man in his arms. 

“Don’t apologize, it wasn’t your fault. And it wasn’t yours either, Angel.” Patrick’s voice was husky, as though he was holding back tears which I couldn’t even begin to blame him. “Thank you for telling me. I just- I had known it was a possibility but I never really thought that-” His words trailed off with a choked sob and he turned his face against Pete’s bare chest, his shoulders shaking as Pete ran a hand gently over his back, the hushed murmurs against Patrick’s hair far too quiet for my ears. The bracelet on Pete’s wrist glinted in the low light and I was struck, as always, by the depth of the relationship between the two men and the obvious love that was between them. 

For minutes that stretched to centuries there was nothing but the quiet mechanical hum of the air conditioning and the sound of muffled sobs as Patrick cried in Pete’s arms. My heart ached for him, for both of them, and my hand shook as I reached out hesitantly, stopping just shy of touching Patrick’s back as his sobs started to fade. Pete smiled softly and gave the smallest of nods and I rested my hand on Patrick’s back, and I felt him sigh softly before he pulled back, pressing a kiss against Pete’s jaw. 

“I’m not sorry about that.” His voice was wrecked as he pulled off his glasses swiping his hands over his cheeks. 

“You shouldn’t be, you have every right to be upset.” My voice tipped slightly into the clinical, and I cursed my schooling of the briefest of moments. “There’s more.”

Pete’s brow raised in silent question and Patrick’s eyes widened, already red from crying. 

“It’s not bad, I don’t think? We are having tea tomorrow at The Drake. Madeline and Bronte and I. I think you should come, both of you.” My words were quiet, carefully measured and I kept my gaze even on the two men in front of me. 

Pete smiled first. “Sweetheart, you devious little woman.”

Patrick looked a bit confused and then, slowly, I could see the connections as they snapped into place. “A public place, Madeline wouldn’t be able to make a scene.” His smile was hesitant, just a hint at first. “But I could meet Bronte…” There was something bordering on wistfulness in his tone and his smile grew. “Angel, I don’t know what to say. I know it is guaranteed, Madeline is not exactly fond of me, but maybe she might actually stay. Thank you, Charleigh.” 

“I can’t promise perfect, but I think it is a start, at the very least. Besides, there is literally no way Madeline can leave without causing a scene and if I know her as well as I used to, that would be the last thing she would ever do. ” I didn’t bother to hide the happiness that bubbled up as Patrick gently pulled me into a warm embrace, pressing a chaste kiss against my lips. 

“Thank you, Angel. Thank you.” The words were muffled against my head, and I could hear Pete’s quiet laughter from behind Patrick. 

“Glad to see you got over that rule of yours, Trick. Now that all the bombshells have been dropped, how about that bath? I’m pretty sure it has been a long fucking day and the tub has an amazing view of the city.” 

“Peter, you have a one track mind, I swear to god. “ There was a lightness to Patrick’s voice as he pushed himself up off the couch, Pete following and holding out a hand to me. 

“I have at least a three track mind, thank you. Baths, sex and food.” Pete’s tone was light and tinged with laughter as he made his way back towards what must have been the master bedroom, vanishing from sight just moments before the sound of water running drifted from the same direction. “Oh. I promise I won’t actually hit Madeline, mostly because of your daughter, but I can’t do much more than that.”

“He is something else.” The words were fond and Patrick rested his arm over my shoulders as we slowly made our way after Pete, grinning as we entered the expansive marble bathroom. 

“You love my something else, Patrick Martin Vaughn Stump.” Pete’s voice was louder as he adjusted the water and poured bubbles under the tap, naked as the day he was born, albeit with more tattoos. 

“I really do, Pete. I really, really do.” Patrick was nearly beaming as he shrugged off his jacket and vest, tossing them over the nearby vanity before working at his tie. 

“You fucking better, Christ.” Pete was grinning as he wandered back towards us, landing a sound smack on Patrick’s ass as he passed. 

“Peter.” The warning was evident in Patrick’s voice but there was no heat behind it, and I could see him hiding his smile in his reflection. 

“Prissy bitch.” Pete’s words were nearly whispered as he stepped behind me, brushing aside my hair to work on the row of buttons that trailed down my back. “Jesus fuck, Sweetheart. This dress is gorgeous but goddamn, why does it have to be so fucking difficult?” 

I couldn’t hide my laugh as he tried to work open the buttons that stretched from the back of my neck to my waist. “Beauty is pain.” 

“I’m pretty sure that Ashley just likes to make things difficult.” Pete’s pout was audible, and I had to bite back a laugh, dropping my head. 

I could feel Patrick’s breath on my neck as he spoke and the brush of his fingers as he batted Pete’s hands away. “It’s all about patience, Pete. Although seeing as you have none of that, you can just wait. Have a seat.” The command was subtle but there, and I glanced up just in time to see Pete’s smile in his reflection as he sank to his knees. His skin was dark against the white marble and he crossed his wrists behind his back, head bowed. 

“Jesus christ, Pete..” Patrick’s hands faltered just slightly on the string of buttons and I didn’t bother to fight the shiver that ran down my spine as the dress was carefully slipped over my shoulders to fall down around my feet and lips brushed the nape of my neck. “See? Just takes a little patience. Now, I believe I was promised a bath.” 

“Yes, Sir.” The words were spoken in unison, drawing a bright, almost serene smile from Patrick as he held a hand out to both Pete and I. 

It wasn’t the best night, not even close, but the heartbreak had been balanced, in a delicate way by hope, and that was truly all anyone could ask for.


	33. Chapter Thirty-Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Teatime.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we go. I know there were some pretty big expectations going into this one, and I really hope that I was able to live up to them. 
> 
> You should let me know if I did or not; the little kudos and comment buttons are perfect for that. 
> 
> Not betaed because I do not have time for that. I know, mistakes are there. whoops. 
> 
> As always, this is for Flames_And_Jade. Thank you for being you. 
> 
> Thank you to SnitchesAndTalkers for endless support and laughs. I'm pretty sure she knows more about these folks that I do. 
> 
> All the hat tips in the world to Laudanum_Cafe and the PPFM for everything that is wrong and amazing in this world. 
> 
> Thank you especially to everyone who is reading this progressively wordy tale; I am forever thankful. 
> 
> Aural Satisfaction this chapter is 'Conversation 16' by The National just because I really love it a whole lot.

“You know, Sweetheart, it would make a whole lot more sense if you just checked out of your room and stayed up here. Not to mention it would save money. And the planet too, all that extra showering. Think of the trees.” Pete’s tone was serious but I could see the smile on his face in the mirror as I paused mid motion, my mascara stopping dead in the air. 

“Of course that suggestion was all about the environment, Peter. You could never have ulterior motives.” The retort was dry as Patrick leaned against the bathroom doorway, barefoot and bareheaded, a cup of tea in his hands.

Pete, perched on the vanity counter in boxers and not a bit else laughed and twirled a blush brush between his fingers. “Ulterior motives? Never. Well, maybe a little. Charleigh happens to be a fantastic cuddler. Plus, she smells amazing and makes us look better by association.”

Unable to hide my laugh any longer, I shook my head. “Well, if it helps the environment and makes you look better, how can I possibly say no?” I caught Patrick’s eye in the mirror and he hid his smile behind his cup, although it was still visible. 

“Perfect. I’ll call Brandon and have him move your things.” Pete was out of the room in a shot, his voice echoing back through the suite as he spoke to the butler on the phone. 

“You really don’t mind staying with us?” Patrick leaned against the vanity, his black pants stark against the pale marble and I smiled as eyed the bobby pins and palettes that were scattered along the surface before picking up my mascara again.

“All the worn t-shirts and boxers I can sleep in and almost three times the space? What’s to mind?” There was a smile behind my words even as I finished up my makeup and twisted the wand back into it’s container before adjusting a pin in my hair. 

“I just want to make sure is all.” The worry in Patrick’s voice was evident and I slipped a last pin into the easy twist I had pinned my hair into and stood with a small smile. 

“I want to be here, I really do. It’s comfort and that is saying something, especially right now.” It was true. Between my parents and running into Madeline the night before, everything seemed just slightly off kilter; having Patrick and Pete so close, waking up tangled in soft sheets and even softer cotton of borrowed sleep clothes brought a sense of peace that was otherwise very much lacking. 

“Believe me, Angel I know what you mean.” His cup set aside, Patrick trailed his thumb over my cheek and I turned into his touch. “Are you sure about this? You don’t have to do any of it you know.” 

“I know. I don’t have to do anything, but I want to, Patrick. If I can use my situation to make a difference for you, I want to. I have no qualms taking advantage of my parents connections if it means that you get to meet your daughter. It’s worth any possible fallout.” There was a slight tremor in my voice, but I was more confident in those words than I had been in anything concerning my family in a long while. 

“You are remarkable, you know that Charleigh?” Patrick’s compliment was just above a whisper and I blushed at the simple words, dropping my head. 

“I’m not anything even close, but thank you, Sir.” 

The hand that still lingered on my cheek slipped to my chin and tilted my head back forcing me to meet his gaze. “You don’t even know, Angel. And it’s Patrick, please.” There was a slight tease to the last words and I smiled, watching as Patrick’s gaze fell to my lips just before he leaned in, closing the small distance between us. 

“Am I interrupting?” There was nothing less that pure mischief in Pete’s voice as it rang out from the doorway. 

Patrick sighed and rolled his eyes as he flipped Pete off, pressing a kiss to my temple before pulling away. “Not at all, Peter, your timing is impeccable as always.” His tone was droll but tinged with a laugh as I took a last glance in the mirror. Hair and makeup were up to what my mother would call her exacting standards; neutral but not so much as to possibly appear undone and not near heavy enough to be ever considered gaudy. Because that mattered in this world. 

Slipping the fluffy white robe I had been wearing off my shoulders, I hung it back up beside the shower and padded back towards the master bedroom to get dressed. It was not a ritual that I missed. There was more than one thing I loved about Vegas, although the freedom that I had there was near paramount. Pete, now clad in black slacks and shirt, sat in the middle of the bed watching me eagerly as I sorted through the small bag I had brought up on my early morning trip back down to my own room. 

“It’s all so fucking pretty.” There was just a bit of awe in his voice as I dressed. Granted the garter and stockings were probably a bit of overkill, but if Madeline was anything like she used to be, and from what I could tell, she was, there wouldn’t be any judgement or formality spared. 

I laughed softly as I adjusted one of my stockings, making sure the seam was straight before tweaking the lace garter belt just so. It was lovely, white silk and lace, exquisitely made and expensive. My mother had instilled in me the importance of beautiful lingerie as soon as I was old enough to wear ot “It is until you have to wear it.” 

“Nah, that’s Patrick’s special kink.” 

“Thanks, Pete.” Patrick’s voice was dry as he reentered the bedroom, the dark dark grey fedora covering his head matching his tie, and black shoes on his feet. 

I stopped dead, my eyes wide and tried to will away the thoughts that were currently swimming in my head, my face going hot. 

The chuckle that drifted to me was low and did nothing to help me clear my mind. “Pete always has let his mouth get the better of him. Not that I am complaining.” Patrick crossed his arms and leaned against the bedpost with a knowing smile, his eyes on me as I finally got myself together and finished dressing, Pete’s commentary unending in the background. 

Fastening a brown leather belt around my waist, I smoothed my hands over my skirt, the muted shades in the plaid matching the pale pink of my light blouse. Granted, a pencil skirt and heels for tea would probably have my mother nearing a coronary, but there wa s a reason she wasn’t invited. Securing the back of my earring tightly, I gave a small smile to Pete and Patrick who were settled on the edge of the bed. “Ready?” 

“Pretty safe to say that I have been waiting on this for over a decade.” Patrick’s voice was clear, although there was worry in his eyes. 

Pete pulled him in close, dropping his head and running his nose against Patrick’s neck. “It’ll all work out, I promise. Now, let’s roll.” 

 

The Drake was exactly as I remembered it, the epitome of elegance and grace, with pristine white linens, delicate china and a harpist seated in the corner. I sat alone at the table for six as I waited for Madeline and Bronte, sipping idly at a glass of water as the clock ticked towards one. The room was already filled with the well-heeled of Chicago enjoying their afternoon, even at the early hour, but I had managed, thanks for some immense and absolutely guilt free name dropping, to secure a table in a far corner. Pete and Patrick were out shopping until two, giving Madeline ample time to relax before showing up. 

It was nearly one fifteen when she walked in, tall and elegant, her red hair pinned up into a knot atop her head and clad in an emerald green suit that matched sash on Bronte’s dark grey dress almost exactly. Madeline was almost as good at playing Barbie as I was, although she ended up being far more willing. Bronte looked wonderfully enamoured as she trailed behind her mother, her smile radiant and genuine, unlike her mother’s. 

I stood as they approached, my smile wide. “Madeline, Bronte, thank you so much for coming. I’m so sorry I had to leave so quickly last night.” 

Madeline enveloped me in a hug, the familiar scent of Chanel No. 5 almost overwhelming as I forced a smile. “Don’t apologize, I remember you always did have a problem with your allergies.” The backhanded insult was delivered with just enough sweetness to conceal the intent behind it and I was suddenly, and very forcefully reminded of Elisa. It was no wonder Pete couldn’t stand her. The two women may not be anything alike physically, but there was a certain air of disdain that they both held that was almost jarring. 

“We all have our downfalls.” My smile as I turned to bronte was genuine and the girl’s eyes sparkled with excitement. “It’s good to see you again, Bronte. 

“Thank you for inviting us, Miss Charleigh.” Her voice was sweet, although not as saccharine as her mother's, and her smile bright. 

“It’s my pleasure, really. Please, have a seat, I think our waiter should be right over.” Both of the redheads complied and our waiter, smartly dressed and with a contagious smile, appeared at the side of the table to take our order, effectively ending the forced pleasantries between Madeline and I. 

 

The table was scattered with three tiered tea trays and delicate china thirty minutes later, and I sipped from my cup of heavily creamed tea while Bronte continued fanciful story about her piano lessons in between sips of hot chocolate and nibbles of pastries and finger sandwiches, with the occasional aside from Madeline as she waited for the specific treat she had requested from a very eager co-conspirator in the form of Spencer the waiter. She was so much like her father at times that it almost surprised me, knowing that the two had never met. That, however was about to change. 

Glancing up above Madeline’s head, I caught sight of a pair of familiar forms paused halfway across the room. Even from here, I could see Patrick’s eyes widen as they landed on our table. Pete’s hand rested easily on his arm for the briefest of moments before they moved again and I pulled every trick in my book not to give myself away, to either Madeline or the girl sitting two chairs over. 

“Good afternoon, Madeline.” Patrick’s voice was calm and even, with just the slightest undercurrent of firmness that I hadn’t heard since the night in his office with Elisa. Madeline went positively white and her cup clattered against it’s saucer, tea splashing over the white tablecloth. Bronte stopped, mid word, and looked up at the man who had spoken, her blue eyes filled with curiosity. As Patrick rounded the table to stand beside the empty chair that separated Bronte and I. “Miss Gabriel.”

“”Mr. Stump, how lovely to see you. Would you care to join us?” I kept my tone light and as innocent as possible, although Madeline, judging by the look of pure anger on her face, didn’t believe me for a moment. I didn’t really care. 

“I would be delighted to, thank you. As long as your guests don’t mind. Are you sure you have room for two?” The effort it was taking Patrick to keep his eyes on Madeline was obvious and Bronte simply looked between him and her mother in confusion. 

“We are actually just leaving, Mr. Stump, but feel free to enjoy tea, I’ll be happy to take care of it.” Madeline’s voice was positively frigid and she was glaring between Patrick and I with thinly veiled anger. 

“Leave? But Mom, Spencer hasn’t brought my treat yet AND Miss Charleigh said she was going to tell me about Paris. Why do we have to go? You promised.” There was disappointment coloring every word and I could see tears brimming in Bronte’s eyes. And, judging by his expression as he sat down, so could Patrick. 

Madeline, her expression forced, shook her head. “I know, Bronte, but unfortunately we have to head home now.” She stood as she spoke and Spencer, he of impeccable timing, showed up tableside with a plate holding fresh berries and a ramekin of creme brulee, looking as confused as Bronte. 

 

"Madeline. Sit down. Believe me, leaving would be the opposite of a wise decision right now. You might care about your reputation in this city, but I could not give a flying fuck. I swear to god, I will make the biggest scene you have ever seen if you try and walk out of here and I will not give it a second thought. You will NOT fuck Patrick over again, and you know I am good for it. Try me, I fucking dare you." Pete’s voice was low as he sat beside Madeline, just loud enough for her and I to hear, but Bronte, excited over her dessert, did not pick up on a single word. Madeline sat back down, although her knuckles were white as she gripped her teacup. 

“Spencer, can I get a Mimosa please?” There was ice in Madeline’s voice as looked at the waiter or me, anywhere but at Pete or Patrick. Earning himself a large tip, Spencer simply nodded and took back off from the direction he came in, leaving the table in silence. 

“Do you know my Mom and Miss Charleigh?” There was curiosity in Bronte’s voice as she looked up at Patrick who smiled warmly and nodded. 

“I do. Your mom and Mr. Wentz and I knew each other when we were in school, although I just met Miss Charleigh about a year ago. My name is Patrick Stump and my friend next to your mom is Pete.” 

Satisfied with the answer, Bronte cast a quick look over towards Pete and her mother, both smiling, although Madeline’s was nearly brittle with effort. “ I’m Bronte Vaughn Duchossois, it’s nice to meet you, Mr. Stump, you too Mr. Wentz.” Unlike last night, there was no boredom in the girl’s voice, but rather excitement and curiosity as she glanced between the four adults she was sharing a table with.

Patrick’s eyes widened at the name and his eyes darted to Madeline for just a moment before he found his words again. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Miss Bronte, thank you so much for letting us join you. I’m sorry if we are interrupting at all.” There was sincerity in every one of Patrick’s words, and he didn’t look away from Bronte for a moment as he spoke, as though she would disappear if he did. 

"It’s not an interruption, it’s always nice to meet new people. Grandma says that it builds character.” Her nose wrinkled and Pete rather unsuccessfully hid a laugh, earning him a scathing look from Madeline. “Mr. Patrick, do you like creme brulee? It's my favorite but Mom always says I should share with guests. You can have some if you want. Mr. Spencer said they don't usually serve it at tea, but he would make an exception."

Patrick’s smile was absolute light at the question and he nodded his head eagerly. “You know what, Miss Bronte? It’s my favorite too, it has been since I was about your age.”

Bronte grinned, a carbon copy of Patrick’s smile and slid her plate over just a few inches. “You can have the first bite if you want, it is always the best and they make it better here than anywhere else. Do you live in Las Vegas like Miss Charleigh?” 

The question began an endless stream of conversation between father and daughter, any discomfort that may have been present vanishing with the crack of molten sugar against the back of the spoon. 

I took another sip of my tea and glanced back at Madeline as she sipped from her second mimosa a bit faster than was polite and gave her a sweet smile over my cup, raising it just slightly in a quiet toast. The look in her eyes when she registered what exactly had happened was priceless, fury and shame in equal measure. 

Pete, silent up until now, save for his earlier ultimatum, grinned and leaned in towards Madeline, snagging the champagne glass she had just set down and finishing the beverage with absolutely no regrets, putting the empty flute back down in front of her. “You always did have exceptional taste, Madeline.” 

Madeline didn’t say a word, simply signaling for another drink and glaring while Patrick and Bronte discussed her piano lessons over a second plate of creme brulee, her expression cold but resigned. 

In the corner, the harpist played on, delicate and soothing, as Madeline’s carefully structured life started to fray at the seams.


	34. Chapter Thirty Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tea isn't always civilized.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter. It was rough, y'all. 6400 words of character development, deep emotions and compelling plot twi- no. no, it is smut, literally at least 5000 words of pure smut. And I am nervous as cats about posting it. Do me a favor, pretty please? Hit that little kudos button, or maybe even comment and let me know how it was? You can even send anon opinions over on Tumblr. Seriously. Concrit is welcome, I am really interested in people's opinions. Pretty please?
> 
> This has not, as always, been betaed so the mistakes are more than likely many and often. I will fix them once I can get to the point of rereading. It takes me some time. 
> 
> For Flames_And_Jade for being encouraging my mess in the first place. 
> 
> Thank you SnitchesAndTalkers... sorry we are writing the same fic. I bow down to you, like LITERALLY. I AM NOT WORTHY. 
> 
> Laudanum_Cafe you keep my day exciting and it would not be nearly as wonderful without your commentary. Thank you. 
> 
> If you have not, for whatever reason, read any of these amazing ladies work, open another tab and do so right now, I will wait. And then come back so we can discuss. My story can wait patiently. 
> 
> Thank you to everyone who takes the time out of their day to read this, it means so much more than I can ever say. 
> 
> Aural Satisfaction: 'Salted Wound' by Sia. I know. I KNOW. 
> 
> Enjoy?

The rest of the afternoon passed in much the same way; animated chatter from Patrick and Bronte, cheerful, slightly threatening asides from Pete and stony silence and alcohol from Madeline. Not far from what was expected, honestly. Despite the attempt at putting up a good show for the sake of her daughter, not even Madeline was good enough to disguise her contempt after mimosa number six which was, incidentally, when Spencer, waiter extraordinaire, stopped serving her. 

There was no love lost at all between Pete and Madeline, and that was evident as he very bodily escorted the woman into the Uber that Patrick had called. Yes, four mimosas was four mimosas, but with Bronte there were absolutely no chances being taken. Patrick was absolutely enchanted with the girl, and she with him. It was easy, even more so when they were together, to see the similarities between the two, despite never having met before. The hug that she gave him before climbing into car behind her mother said as much, and Pete had, very much against Madeline’s wishes, arranged for lunch tomorrow. The thinly veiled threat if she and Bronte failed to show up was not lost on anyone save for Bronte, although the girl was smart; she knew there was something going on, even if she couldn’t quite pinpoint it. 

Patrick’s face as he watched the car pull away from the curb outside The Drake was a mixture of awe, sadness and elation as he squinted against the bright, late afternoon sun. 

“She is fucking amazing.” The statement was one that did not need to be said but didn’t go unsaid anyway, and Pete and I both nodded in agreement as we made our way back towards the valet stand. 

“She really is, although I can’t imagine she would be anything less, Trick. She is your daughter after all. Despite Madeline and her asshole parents raising her, your good genes seem to have won out.” Pete still didn’t hold anything back, and I honestly couldn’t blame him. 

“I can’t say Madeline had her reasons but she doesn’t seem to have-”

“I swear to God, Patrick, if you defend that woman I will take you over my goddamn knee.” 

“Watch your fucking tone, Peter.” There was no real heat in any of the words, but Patrick seemed to have won this round, at least for the moment. The valet, his face slightly surprised, simply handed over the keys to Pete in exchange for a bill that no doubt bought his silence and we loaded into the ridiculous vehicle. 

 

“So I don’t know if I ever thanked you properly, Angel.” The words were muttered against my head as I settled on the couch once we had returned back to the hotel and I was in the middle of kicking my shoes off. The sky outside had gone dark, in the hours since we had left The Drake, Pete and Patrick both insisting on visiting their favorite spots in the city, grey-green rain clouds threatening to burst at any moment, and the city lights had started to twinkle on along the skyline. The city seemed almost impossibly small from the twelfth floor and the bright flashes of lightening in the distance did nothing to counter that. 

“You don’t have to thank me, really. I’m just glad I could do something to help.” I was as honest I could be. I didn’t do well with thanks on a personal level, especially for something like this. 

Pete, his button down discarded nearly the minute we walked in the door dropped down beside me with a grin, a small black bag in his hands that wasn’t from any of the stops we had made after tea. “Yeah, but you see Sweetheart, what you did was something monumental. That deserves thanks.” 

“You are very welcome. There aren’t many times I am thankful for my parents connections but in this case, well, it seemed to work out well. I’m glad I could help, Patrick, truly.” 

Setting his hat on the table with a soft smile, Patrick ran a hand through his hair and settled down beside me, rolling his eyes as Pete shook the bag in his hands. “I’m not at all sure what the hell is going to happen next but I know that Bronte will be a part of my life from now on, and I have you to thank for that.” 

“This is going to go on all night. ‘Thank you’ ‘You’re welcome, thank you.’ ‘No thank YOU’. You’re thankful. You are both also far too fucking polite sometimes. I understand Angel because that is the way she was raised, but jesus fuck, Trick. I should be better mannered than you.” Despite the diatribe, Pete’s voice was light and his eyes were bright. 

“Peter, are you pushing me for a reason today? I will gag you if need be.” There was a dark edge to Patrick’s voice and Pete positively beamed. 

“Pretty please?” 

“You are an asshole, Peter. Give Charleigh her present, would you?” The smile on Patrick’s face took a bit of the harshness out of his words and Pete dropped the small bag onto my lap with a grin. It was matte black with a slick, shiny tone-on-tone logo that I didn’t recognize. 

“It’s not something that has anything at all to do with today, but we saw it and it was something that we had discussed, so…” Patrick explained as I opened the bag, pulling out a smaller black box, heavy for it’s size. “If you don’t like it, or want it, we can find something else. 

“Trick. Shut up and let the girl open it before you apologize.” The comment was offhand and earned Pete a swat to the back of the head , but it was quickly soothed with a hand over his hair. 

I couldn’t help but smile at the interaction before turning my attention back to the box in my lap. Sliding the lid off, I couldn’t hide my soft gasp as my cheeks warmed. The stainless steel shone in the bright lights and the jewel on the end of the small toy twinkled, it’s hue changing between purple, blue and teal as I twisted the thin portion of the toy between my fingers. 

“It’s lovely, thank you.” It really was, and even if I hadn’t had any experience with this exact toy before, I knew quality when I saw it. 

Pete, grinning, leaned in and pressed a kiss to the side of my neck. “Told you she would like it, Trick.”

“Shut up, Pete.” Patrick’s words carried no fire, and I could see his smile from the corner of my eye as I kept my gaze on my lap. “It’s something that we can work up to, if you’d like. There isn’t any rush.” 

“No, I’d actually like to if you’d like- when you want.” I stumbled, once again over my words and Patrick tilted my head back up to meet his eyes, his fingers warm under my chin.

“What was that, Angel?” There was a glint in Patrick’s eyes, similar to one I had seen time and again at Flame, and I swallowed thickly, darting my tongue out to wet my lips.

“Trick, don’t be a dick. You heard her just fine. Now give the lady what she asked for.” Pete didn’t waste any time in jumping up and extending a hand to me. “Sweetheart?”

“Charleigh, you don’t ha-” Patrick’s words were cut off by my finger against his lips and his eyes went wide. 

“Please?” A single word held more weight than I would have thought possible, and Patrick smiled, pressing a kiss against my finger. 

“I couldn’t say no if I wanted to.” His voice was low and husky, filled with promise as he pushed himself up and pulled me easily behind him, resting his hand easily against my back. 

“Guest bedroom. It’ll make sleeping easier.” Pete called, another black bag in hand headed towards the unused bedroom, kicking off his shoes on the way. 

“Does he have some kind of weird sixth sense that we don’t know about?” I whispered the question with a smile, as we made our way down the short passage to the guest bedroom where Pete was standing, bare chested and pants hanging low, by the floor to ceiling windows that looked out over the city as the rain began to fall. 

“Nah, just the five, Sweetheart. I’m just focused is all. There are times when I like to plan ahead.” The smile in Pete’s voice was evident and he crossed the room in a few long strides, glancing between Patrick and I before giving Patrick’s tie a gentle tug. “Gimmie.” 

“Peter.” It was more of an endearment than a warning, uttered with affection as Patrick loosened his tie, sliding the silk through the collar of his shirt as Pete worked open the buttons and yanked the fabric from Patrick’s pants. 

“Fuck you and propriety, Jesus Christ. Too many layers.” Pete uttered the words as he quickly undressed Patrick, his hands used to the task after so many years. 

“Pete, I dress like an actual adult, something I know you are capable of, even if you don’t sho- fuck.” Patrick’s easy admonishment was cut off with a sharp hiss as Pete slid a hand inside Patrick’s boxers and stroked the length of his cock.

“That’s better.” The words were dripping with cockiness, although well earned, as Pete withdrew his hand, earning a scowl from Patrick, although he ignored it and turned his attention to me. “You however, Sweetheart, are still far too wrapped up. Although you are a far prettier package than Trick.”

“I can’t argue that.” Patrick’s breath brushed over my ear as he stepped behind me, his hands working easily at the buttons of my blouse. “Far more fun to unwrap as well.” Skilled fingers gathered soft silk and pulled, tugging it free from my skirt as Pete deftly unclasped my belt, tossing it to the side, my blouse following. 

“I’ll take that as a compliment.” My voice trembled just slightly as Patrick’s fingers trailed over the lace at the edge of my bra and I felt him chuckle against my chest. 

“Good girl. It was meant as one.” Pete, grinning in front of me, slid his fingers down my ribs to lower the zipper at my skirt and give it a gentle push, sending it falling to puddle around my feet. “There.” There was a twinkle in Pete’s eyes as he gave me a wink and dropped his head, closing his lips around one lace covered nipple and sucking hard. 

I whimpered, my head falling back against Patrick;s shoulder as he grinned against my neck, nipping at the delicate skin, his hands falling to rest at my waist. ”You okay, Angel?”

“Mmmhhhmm.” I nodded, muttering as I focused beyond the sensations that were coursing through me. 

“I think that the bed needs to happen. Right fucking now.” Pete’s words were muttered into my rather insignificant cleavage, just before he pulled me close and slipped his hands down over my ass. “Up.” 

I complied quickly, twining my arms around Pete’s neck and crossed my legs behind his back, laughing against his neck during the quick trip before Pete set me, ever so carefully on the edge of the bed. Patrick rested the small box containing the shining toy beside me, before moving behind me, giving my waist a gentle tug, his fingers teasing under the lace and silk of my garter belt. 

“Lay down, Angel.” It was a request, gentle and sweet, and I did so, stretching out on the luxurious bed as the comforter rustled beneath me. “Good Girl.” 

Those words again. Somehow, no matter the situation, they seemed to bring me more pride than I could have ever imagined at every uttering. Patrick’s mouth teased over my neck, down to follow the lace edge of my bra, muttering against my skin, words both sweet and obscene. 

“You two are a goddamn wet dream. Holy shit.” Pete, ever eloquent, laughed as his fingers flipped open the clasps that held my stockings up and brushed the straps away, sliding the silk down one leg and off my foot, before repeating the process on the other side and setting the delicate scraps of fabric aside with a surprising gentleness. 

“I think, Angel, that is a good thing.” Patrick grinned against my breast, sliding his hands around my ribs to tease at my back. “Up. Cause as pretty as this is, and it is very lovely, it needs to be off.” 

Pushing my feet against the bed, I pressed up, raising up just enough for Patrick’s hands to flip open the clasp on my bra at the same time that Pete hooked his fingers under the sides of my panties and slipped them off. The mattress shifted beside me as Patrick moved up the bed to lean against the headboard, patting his thigh. “Come here?” The question was hesitant, almost unsure and I couldn’t help but smile as settled between Patrick’s legs, not at all missing the hardness of his cock against my ass. My breath caught and Patrick’s hand trailed almost lazily to my chin, gently turning my head so I met his gaze. His eyes behind his glasses were deep blue and stormy as they met mine, a world of unspoken questions being shared in the space of a breath. Nodding just enough to be seen, I leaned forward and closed what little distance was between us, catching his lips in a kiss. It started sweet but quickly escalated into something more, a promise and a secret in the same moment until I pulled away just enough to see him, both of us struggling for breath. 

Reaching almost absently for his hand, I twined my fingers with his and gave a gentle tug, rocking my hips as I shivered, our joined hands skimming down my bare torso. I could hear a warm chuckle pressed against my neck as Patrick untangled his fingers from mine and slipped them teasingly under the garter belt that was still fastened around my waist, , calloused and hot against my over-sensitive skin, flipping it open and tossing it aside. “Now who’s overdressed?” My voice was breathy and it took everything in me not to moan aloud as Patrick’s fingers slipped down between my legs and I writhed at the touch, much to the enjoyment of the man behind me. 

“You’re being a tease, Trick.” Pete laughed from his place beside us, his eyes bright.

“Pretty sure you can’t be a tease if you are going to follow through, Peter. At least that’s what   
somebody told me one time.” Patrick’s voice was laced with humour beneath the sultry tone. 

“Yeah, well, someone should have their head examined because they were wrong as fuck.” Pete grinned as he leaned down and dragged his teeth over my hip. 

Another laugh in my ear and shift of my hips had Patrick’s fingers nearly where I wanted them. “You know, I’m pretty sure you’re wrong about that. Cause, you see, this someone has a tendency to be right most of the fucking time. But if you really want to argue…” Both of his hands stilled and I whimpered in frustration, my skin flushed and my body increasingly eager as I rocked up into the now stilled touch. “Patience, Angel.” 

 

I whimpered and Patrick tisked in my ear, his teeth nipping ever so lightly at my earlobe and there went any and all argument I may have possibly had vanished. “Interesting.” 

The single word seemed to echo in my overstimulated brain and I didn’t hide my nearly frustrated moan, pressing my ass back against Patrick and wiggling as much as I could. Turnabout was fair play, after all, or at least that is what they said. Then again, I may have possibly not been thinking all that clearly as the hand that had been so fucking pleasantly between my legs fucking vanished and I actually whined. “You okay there, Charleigh?” There was a new dimension to his voice, something flirting with dark and teasing, as though he knew something that I didn’t.

“ I’m fine, Patrick just a little needy at the moment.” My words were drawn out on a whimper and I bucked my hips up into Patrick’s hand. 

“Let me help, Sweetheart?” Pete smiled against my skin and I nodded silently, catching his gaze as he shifted and settled easily between my legs as I parted them for him, Patrick’s fingers still teasing against the sensitive skin of my inner thigh. Pete’s lips joined them and I felt his tongue slip over the digits. My head fell back against Patrick’s shoulder and my eyes closed as both clever fingers and a hot tongue teased against my clit, causing me to squirm, Patrick’s free hand tightening on my hip. 

“Stay still for me.” Although the voice was gentle, it was still firm and I fought against the need to push up against Pete’s mouth. “Don’t forget to pull, believe me you’ll be thankful.” 

 

Fighting back a moan, I twisted my fingers in Pete’s hair and tugged, the action almost immediately rewarded with a nip at my neck. I trembled under the careful attention, gasping for breath as whiskey eyes met mine, Pete pulling back just a bit to nip at the tender skin on the inside of my thigh. “Pillow please?” 

Patrick obliged quickly, handing over one of the throw pillows and giving my hip a tap. “Up, Angel.” 

As soon as my hips were raised, Pete easily slid the pillow beneath my ass with an absolutely charming grin, fishing a bottle out of the bag he had rested in the middle of the bed. Patrick trailed his hands up my ribs his mouth still teasing at my neck and I heard a quiet click, before Pete’s mouth was back on me, sucking my clit between his lips. 

“You’re absolutely fucking delictable, Angel. I know Pete thinks so. Look at him, Charleigh.” The words were low and hot against my ear and I did as I was told, looking down at Pete, his head dark between my pale thighs, his tongue teasing and lapping with a focused intensity that and my fingers nearly yanking at his hair. “He is so good, isn’t he? The things he can do with that tongue. I won’t lie, Angel, I am a little bit jealous. One of these days I am going to get on my knees for you and taste that sweet cunt of yours first hand.” The words had me writhing, my eyes closing as I felt a cold, gentle pressure against my asshole; nothing more though, a finger and slick lube pressing in the same easy rhythm that Pete’s tongue moved to. 

A strangled gasp slipped from my lips and Patrick chuckled darkly against my ear. “His fingers are almost as good as his tongue, just wait.” Patricks hands drifted over my breasts, pinching at my already hard nipples as I arched up into his hands, pressing my ass back against his hard cock, still covered with his boxers. “Fucking hell, Angel. Do you feel what you do to me? That is all for you.” The combination of words and stimulation had me aching for release, desire sparking through me with every touch. 

“Please, Patrick, I need-” My words were cut off by a sharp cry of pleasure, high and breathy, that I didn’t quite recognize as my own when the pressure against my ass increased and the digit that had been teasing slipped inside. Pete’s finger stilled but his mouth didn’t, teasing and licking; I could feel the smile on his face. 

Patrick’s fingers slipped back between my legs, circling my clit in steady, perfect circles before he nipped at my earlobe, teasing and stroking for what seemed like forever as Pete joined matched his rhythm with both his tongue and his finger. . “Let go for me Angel. Now.” As always, it was the words, nearly growled in that familiar voice, that had me screaming and writhing under his and Pete’s combined efforts. My vision whited out for a moment as I shook in Patrick’s arms, my fingers tightening almost painfully in Pete’s hair before I went limp, falling bonelessly against Patrick as he whispered in my ear. “Good Girl. You are so fucking good for me.” 

I couldn’t do anything but sigh, my breath broken as I shuddered, whimpering as Pete gave a last, long lick over my sensitive flesh before pulling away and kissing my thigh. “Delicious.” The single word was uttered with a grin, Pete’s lips shining obscenely in the low light overhead. 

“Thank you.” I whispered the words, smiling down at Pete and squeaking as the finger, fingers now, in my ass crooked just the tiniest bit. 

“Don’t even start that, Sweetheart, believe me, it was my pleasure.” The way Pete’s hips pressed against the mattress seemed to confirm his words and Patrick laughed. 

“Patience is a virtue, Peter. No fucking touching, do you hear me?” There was no disguising the dominance that was in Patrick’s tone, and Pete dropped his head in a nod, stilling immediately. 

“Yes, Sir.” His voice was strained, just a bit, but there was absolute joy on his face. “You took two, Sweetheart. Did you want to try your present?” Pete crooked his fingers as he spoke, just slightly, and I rocked into the touch. The sensation, while strange, was far from unpleasant, and the prospect of not only continuing but getting more was almost overwhelming. 

“Yes please, Sir.” The title slipped out almost unbidden and Pete froze, shifting his gaze to Patrick whose fingers turned my chin so I could meet his eyes, dark with desire and something else that I couldn’t quite place. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to-” 

It was my words, this time, that were cut off with a finger resting gently against my mouth. “No apologies, Charleigh, not unless you harm me and I assure you that you could never do that. Now as much as that is my title, Pete is my equal in many ways, especially when we are in our space.” Patrick paused, tapping his finger against my lips. “Open and suck, Angel.” 

I did as directed, taking Patrick’s finger in my mouth and trailing my tongue along it, never dropping his gaze. “You look absolutely fucking sinful with something in your mouth. I don’t mind if you call Pete Sir, Angel, and I know he doesn’t. But only Pete, understood?” I nodded to the best of my ability, the finger in my mouth preventing me from speaking. “Good.” Patrick’s voice was a genter and he pressed a kiss against the tip of my nose just as Pete’s fingers slipped out of my ass. 

The loss was physical, if odd, and I whined almost instinctively around Patrick’s finger. His laugh was immediate, as was Pete’s, as he drew his finger out from between my lips with a pop. “Patience.” The click of the lube cap sounded again, and Patrick’s hands went to my hips, gripping them for the briefest moment. “Hands and knees, Angel.” 

The tremors from my climax had subsided and I gave a small nod, shifting into the requested position with no small amount of difficulty, and amused chuckles from both of the men in bed with me. 

Patrick’s fingers gripped my chin, not hard enough to hurt, but I could feel the pressure as he held my gaze. “Look at me. Don’t look away, I want to see you.” I nodded mutely as Pete’s hand slipped over my ass, his fingers slick, Patrick’s eyes flickering over to him for the briefest of moments. “Are you ready, Angel?” 

“Yes, Sir.” My voice was huskier than usual, and shook with just the slightest bit of nerves, but Patrick gave me a soft, sweet smile and dipped his head in a nod. The warmth of Pete’s fingers was followed by cold, wet steel, teasing easily between my cheeks. The cold was different, so different, from Pete’s fingers, but not in an unpleasant way, and I gave a small sigh at the newly familiar pressure, one hand stroking my hip as the other pressed the toy eyer so slowly against my ass. 

“You’re doing amazing, Sweetheart.” Pete’s voice was calm and steady, much like the press of his hand, and I smiled at the praise, wincing just slightly as he advanced the plug, stretching my hole just a bit more. 

“Look at me, Angel.” The request was quiet, almost inaudible and I complied, my arms shaking the tiniest bit at the slight sting, despite the copious amounts of slick lube. “Almost done just a little bit more.” I swallowed back my whimper and nearly choked on it as the wides part of the toy was pushed inside of me and the slight pain subsided, leaving a feeling of unusual fullness. 

“Fucking beautiful.” I could feel Pete’s breath against my ass, and I didn’t hide my smile at the praise, moaning as he pressed a finger against the toy, rocking it forward and sending another jolt of desire through me. 

“Turn around and let me see?” It was a question, but there was no denying the soft demand in Patrick’s voice and I nodded, pushing up to my knees and turning, coming face to face with Pete. He was grinning fit to burst, all white teeth and eyes dancing with delight. Patrick’s hands spread my cheeks and I heard him cluck his tongue in appreciation. “Gorgeous. It suits you well, Angel.” 

“Thank you.” My smile was immediate at the praise and reflected Pete’s as man moved forward, stroking a hand over my cheek. 

“Go ahead, Peter, I know exactly what you are thinking.” There was amusement dancing in Patrick’s voice as his fingers continued to play with the plug, alternating between pushing lightly on the sparkling base, and slipping just below to twist it, his fingers slick with lube. 

Pete simply raised an eyebrow and pulled my face close, meeting my lips in a kiss. There was nothing sweet or gentle about it; it was fucking electric and messy, filled with need and fire. I could taste myself on his tongue, sweet and unfamiliar, and my moan was lost into his mouth. We were both panting by the time he pulled away, his fingers tangled in my hair and a small smile on his lips as his eyes darted to Patrick who still played with the toy that rested firmly in my ass. 

“What are you thinking, Peter? I can tell when you have an idea.” Patrick’s voice was kind and amused and Pete gave my hair a little tug before crawling by me to sit beside Patrick. I twisted to watch the two, Pete’s head dark against Patrick’s pale shoulder for a moment before he leaned into whisper against his ear. Whatever he said was not meant for my ears, but Patrick’s breath caught in a soft moan, although Pete’s hand working in firm strokes beneath the his boxers may have had something to do with that. 

Two sets of eyes, baby blue and wide-eyed brown rested on me and for a moment there was nothing in the world that was more important than them. 

“You know my opinion on that. It is not even remotely close to my decision. That is all Charleigh.” There was something lingering behind his voice, hope maybe, and three fingers dipped just slightly past the base of the plug, pressing ever so lightly against the rim of my asshole and sending a thrill through me.”Come up here, Angel?” 

The warmth of Patrick’s hand vanished and I shifted to move back towards the two men at the head of the bed, sitting back on my heels almost instinctively and yelping at the beautiful pressure it put on the toy in my ass. 

“Feels good, doesn’t it Sweetheart? I’ll show you some of the ones I have at home once we get back, I promise that pretty little jewel is just the beginning.” There was a smile in Pete’s voice as he spoke, his nose nuzzling against Patrick’s neck and his hand still working, albeit much slower over Patrick’s prick. Pete’s own cock strained against his boxers, untouched, and the light blue saw smeared with damp, wet splotches. 

“Now who’s a tease, Pete?” The words were nearly gritted between Patrick’s teeth as he swallowed back a moan. 

“I’m a sure thing, Trick. No teasing here, simply promises. Right, Sweetheart?” 

“Right, Sir.” A smile pulled at my lips at the twin reactions, both men’s smiles growing, even as Patrick’s hand rested on pete’s wrist, stilling it for the moment as he met my eyes. 

“Pete had an idea, Charleigh, and it is entirely dependent on what you feel comfortable with.” The caution was evident in Patrick’s voice, a tone I had only heard a few times before, and I was beyond intrigued. 

“What is it?” There was more curiosity than fear in my voice, and desire laced the words as I looked from Patrick to Pete and back again. Patrick crooked his fingers, summoning me closer, and I complied, leaning in towards him until his lips were at my ear. 

“How would you feel about trying to take us both at the same time?” The words were quiet, but heavy with curiosity and want. 

The idea was not foreign to me, it had been mentioned in passing before, and Lindsey and I had had more than one conversation on the subject over the months, but I had never really thought that it would be a possibility. Swallowing thickly, my throat suddenly dry, I pulled my lip between my teeth and let the thought swirl in my mind. There was silence in the room for what felt like years, broken only by the crashes of thunder and the rain pounding against the windows. 

Lifting my head to meet Patrick’s eyes, I tilted my head into Pete’s hand as he brushed a piece of hair behind my ear. “Do you think I could??” My voice shook slightly and Patrick smiled, gentle and reassuring. 

“I think you could. I think it would be a stretch, but yes, I think you could.” He held my gaze the entire time, his voice quiet and sure. 

“Can we, please?” It was little more than a whisper, but both Patrick and Pete heard clearly. Pete dropped a kiss against my head and Patrick just nodded, gently lifting my hand to his lips to kiss the inside of my wrist, holding my gaze. 

“Anything you want, Angel. Back up for me?” I gave a brief nod and crawled backwards just enough for Patrick to slip away from where he was, giving Pete a nod towards the spot he had just left. Sliding off his boxers, Pete settled in easily and gestured for me to come closer, Patrick’s hand resting on my back. 

“C’mere, Sweetheart. Back on your hands and knees, okay? Patrick is going to get help get you ready, okay?” Pete’s voice was gentle, calming in a way that I would have never associated with him and I complied, shifting easily onto all fours. “That’s a girl. Look at me, okay? I won’t lie, this is probably going to hurt a bit, but it will be so, so good too, I promise.” Sure hands slid over my hair as he spoke, carefully pulling out the pins and throwing them aside to card through my tangled locks. 

Patrick’s hands were sure and strong, and the click snap of the lube cap was the only sound from behind me just before his slick fingers teased over the plug, pulling and twisting with a careful touch. 

Pete’s eyes darted from my face to Patrick’s, pulling in a sharp breath as I whimpered, shifting my weight back into the familiar hands that seemed to know how to perfectly draw out the most intense feelings with just a caress. “His face, Sweetheart, Jesus you should see him.” My eyes drifted closed as I rocked against Patrick’s hand, gasping as the toy was pulled free and quickly replaced with his fingers. 

His movements, while precise, were tender despite the slight burn as Patrick worked me open, the lube cool and unusual against the warmth of his skin, each twist sending chills down my spine as my gasps turned into quiet cries, Pete’s hands never leaving my hair as he mumbled sweet words, his thumb slipping into my mouth as his eyes darkened. 

“Fuck, Sweetheart, you’re gonna kill me. If you don-” His words were cut off as Patrick’s hand fell away from my ass, giving it a gentle slap. 

“You’re all ready, Angel.” His words were simple, but his voice heavy as I looked over my shoulder at him, Pete’s thumb trailing over my cheek. Patrick was sat back on his heels, boxers discarded, and his cock standing hard and dark against his pale skin as he passed Pete the bottle of lube. “Face me, please, Charleigh.” 

The words were a gentle request and not a command, although my hands still shook as I pushed up on my knees to face Patrick, ignoring the sound of Pete slicking himself up behind us. Patrick’s warm hand rested on my cheek as I met his gaze and his lips twitched up into a small smile. “Pete is going to be first, so you can get used to it, it is a big adjustment. Straddle him, your back to his chest, I want to be able to see your face. Once you’re ready, I’ll come to you, alright? If you need to stop at all, just one word and it is done. Are you sure you want this, Charleigh?” 

“Yes, Sir.” There was no hesitation in my words, no fear or doubt; I hadn’t been as sure of anything in as long as I could remember, save for the first night months ago when we had first discussed the terms of our arrangement. 

“Good girl. Go on and see Pete.” Lips brushed gently against my temple and then Patrick’s warmth was gone, but Pete’s hands were on my hips guiding me easily back to lean against his chest, his lips against my ear. 

“This may sting, Sweetheart.” I swallowed against the limp in my throat, my hands gripping the sheets. One hand left my hip just before I felt the blunt press of Pete’s cock against my asshole, wet and slippery with too much lube. I closed my eyes against the push, biting my lip as he moved forward, inch by inch, the drag just this side of too much while his fingers tightened on my hip. Once he was finally, blissfully and painfully all the way in, I gave a small sob at the sensation as Pete’s lips brushed against my neck. “Jesus Fucking Christ, Charleigh. You are fucking amazing.” 

“Angel, are you okay?” Patrick’s voice pierced through the haze of my thoughts and I nodded, forcing my eyes open. “Good, very good. Let me know when you are ready.” 

“I’m going to move, Sweetheart, just a little alright?” Another nod and Pete shifted back, his groan hot against my neck as he gave my hips the slightest push. The pain flared just a bit and then ebbed into pleasure, heightening with every thrust Pete gave. My breath caught with every gasp and my head lolled back against Pete’s shoulder. 

“I’m ready, Sir. Please.” The words were cracked with quiet cries, a plea that had me nearly shaking. 

Patrick didn’t waste a moment closing the distance between us in a blink, one hand on my thigh opposite Pete’s, and the other around the base of his cock, lining up and pausing for just a moment. “Open your eyes.” I did as requested, meeting eyes that were dark with desire, need and something else that I couldn’t pinpoint. “Good Girl.” 

He pushed forward slowly, frowning at the resistance that my body gave, rubbing his thumb over my hip even as I could feel the bruises form in the shape of his fingerprints. “Relax, Angel.” 

I tried, time and again to comply, my frustration growing as my muscles tightened and tears pricked at my eyes as Pete mumbled against my neck, the unheard words punctuated with tender kisses. 

“Kiss me, Patrick?” My voice broke on the last word and I held his gaze, watching as recognition dawned. The hand on my hip resting on my cheek before he leaned into meet my lips. I melted into him, my arms twining around his neck as he slid inside me with a groan, my cry lost into his mouth.

Time stretched for an instant as I let the waves of pain and pleasure wash over me, the feeling of being pushed farther than I had even imagined almost dizzying as I fought for some clarity through the haze of want, need, more. 

“You’re fucking perfect, Angel. Perfect.” Patrick’s voice was wrecked, the words pushed out between groans as he pulled his hips back and thrust forward again, wrenching a cry from my throat. 

It was the last sentence that really registered before I gave over to pleasure, Pete’s lips against my neck and Patrick’s whispers in my ear the only things I could focus on. The words were filthy and pretty, whispered endearments and scattered curses becoming more broken with each thrust as we all teetered on the edge, salt-slick with sweat despite the frigid air piped in from overhead. 

Pete came first, cursing as his teeth scraped against my neck, his fingers digging into my hips, adding to the bruises that were sure to already be blossoming. Patrick followed quickly after, his moans nearly melodic as he shook, his head dropped against my shoulder, his hair damp with sweat. I trembled between them, my breath catching in my chest as tried to move to no avail, nearly crying with need. 

Patrick’s nose brushed against my ear, and then his warm breath. “You can do it, Angel, I promise. Let go, Love.” And I did, pleasure washing over me with a wordless wail as my head whirled and my body finally, blissfully went limp, three words echoing as they were whispered into my ear. “My Good Girl.”


	35. Chapter Thirty Five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The morning after the night before. And the return of OPP. Because, well, you know me.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How in the hell do you follow up 6k of smut? With some teeth-achingly sweet fluff, of course. Fairy floss ahead, y'all. But I promise, it isn't all sugar and rainbows. because, well, it is me. 
> 
> Comments and kudos LITERALLY make me happier than a clam. I love questions too, and am always available to answer them on tumblr. Ask all the things!
> 
> As always, this is not betad because I have an instant gratification problem. Oops. 
> 
> For Flames_And_Jade because she is golden. 
> 
> All of the thanks to SnitchesAndTalkers for dealing with my rantings and just being the best damn cheerleader EVER.
> 
> Hat tip to Laudanum_cafe for being amazing and making me laugh my fool ass off. 
> 
> Thank you all for taking teh gtime to read this ridiculously out of control tale, it means more than I can say. 
> 
> Aural Satisfaction is "Lullabye" by Fall Out Boy. Because of course, y'all.

The delicate and deliberate tinkling of a piano pierced through my thin haze of sleep, pulling me gently from scattered remnants of dreams that vanished into the ether. I stretched leisurely, my vision still blurry, and my back cracked in a series of contented pops as I sat up glanced around at the decidedly empty bed of the master bedroom. 

It had definitely not been this way when I had fallen asleep, quite the opposite actually. Pleasantly sore, exhausted and freshly out of a leisurely and luxurious bath, I had drifted off between both Pete and Patrick as the storm had continued to rage outside. 

The rain still hadn’t let up, spattering against the windows, the clouds covering the skyline as far as I could see. Music was still echoing from the living area, naggingly familiar but the title escaping me. Pushing up out of the bed, I give into a yawn and wince slightly, the motion just a bit too quick as my body reminded me, in the best of ways, of exactly how far it had been pushed last night. I grabbed a discarded shirt from a chair by the door, one of Patrick’s if I wasn’t mistaken, and slipped my glasses on, my sleepy fingers fumbling with the buttons as I made my way towards the living room. 

Pete was sprawled across the couch, a pair of pajama pants with what looked like Lucky Charms printed all over them slung low on his hips, with his head hanging off the end. Patrick was seated at the bright yellow piano, his fingers drifting easily over the keys looking absolutely at peace. The melody was sweet and light but still held a certain air of gravity to it; it was beautiful. 

“It’s beautiful.” My voice was raspy and thick with sleep even though I was feeling marginally more awake. Pete sat up, his smile wide, and patted the couch beside him while Patrick smiled, his fingers not wavering on the keys. 

“Good morning, Angel. And thank you, it isn’t really anything special.” There was a modesty about Patrick’s words that seemed unusual, and I couldn’t help but wonder about it as I settled on the couch beside Pete who pressed a kiss to my dishevelled hair. 

“Hi, Sweetheart. And don’t listen to him, he wrote that at eighteen. Modest motherfucker.” Pete’s fingers worked through my tangled tresses as Patrick continued to play, the music coming free and easy. 

“Was it for Bronte?” My question was almost automatic and as much as I would have like to blame my sleepy and decidedly non caffeinated state, I was just curious and my tongue was looser than normal. I could see Patrick’s smile as the song finished up and he moved from the piano bench to the couch , lifting my hand to kiss the inside of my wrist. Despite how much things had progressed between us, and they had, on every level, there was still something sweet about the gesture, especially combined with his sleep mussed hair and rumpled pajamas. 

“It was, well, it is. I wrote it as soon as I found out Madeline was pregnant.” 

He looked almost painfully young and I could easily envision him twelve years ago, composing the piece for a daughter he would not meet for over a decade; it made my heart ache a little.

“Speaking of the bitch troll from hell.” There was far too much glee in Pete’s voice as he flipped through the phone in his hand, a bright grin on his face. The phone was on speaker and there was a moment of tinny ringing before a very exhausted and very miserable voice picked up. 

“‘Lo?” Madeline did not sound her best. At all. 

“Good morning, Madeline! I do hope I didn’t wake you.” Pete nearly screamed the words false sincerity evident in his voice. 

“Fuck you, Wentz. What the fuck do you want?” 

“Now Madeline, is that any way to greet your child’s Godfather?” Pete shot over a wink at his words, and Patrick bit back a laugh, pressing his face against my neck. 

“You are not Bronte’s anything, asshole. Now why the fuck are you calling me at this unholy fucking hour?” Madeline, it would seem, was not having a good morning. 

“Now Madeline, if I didn’t know any better, I would say you didn’t like me very much. I would be offended but I fucking hate you, so. And You know as well as I do that I will be involved in that little girl’s life, as will Patrick. And besides, seven-thirty is a perfectly acceptable time to be awake. Unless… did you have a long night? I know you have an affinity for champagne when things get messy. How is your head by the way?” There was a thinly veiled threat behind Pete’s words, despite their lightness and Patrick simply shook his head. 

“Fuck you, Pete. I do hate you, I always have. And you and Patrick being involved in my daughter’s life is not a choice I would have made, but unfortunately some people can’t mind their own fucking business.” I could hear a rustling on the other end of the line, and what sounded like the clink of capsules against plastic. I did not pity her in this moment

“Watch it, Madeline. Bronte is just as much Patrick’s as she is yours, even Helen Keller could see that. I didn’t ever hear you complaining when he sent money and gifts and I fucking know he did because I went with him to get every single one, and I saw the bank transfers. Funny how that works.” There was no humor left in Pete’s voice, his words cold and careful. “ You would be wise to remember not only who you are speaking to, but who you are speaking of.”

“Oh please. I’m not hurting your feelings, asshole, I couldn’t even if I wanted to, and believe me I have fucking tried. I’m not one of your fucking pets, Peter, I won’t bow to your every whim. You can leave that shit to Charleigh. You always did have a weakness for insipid blondes.” 

“Madeline, that is enough.” Patrick’s voice was firm and hard, a tone I had never heard outside of his office. “I don’t give a flying fuck what you say about me or Pete. Believe me, we have heard it all before. You will not even mention Charleigh again, do you hear me? Because if we are talking about insipid, well, you pretty much fit that bill to a T, Darling. I can make your perfect fucking life a goddamn mess with a few phone calls, and I will in a heartbeat. If you thought for a goddamn second I wouldn’t drag your name through the mud and sue you for custody, you are dead fucking wrong. Push me on this, Madeline, Please. I dare you.”

There was silence on the line for a heavy moment, and I could hear the resignation in Madeline’s voice when she finally spoke again. “Fine, Patrick. Now, are you going to tell me why the fuck you called me, or do you just want to continue the pissing contest?”

“Madeline, you don’t sound happy to hear from us. I’d work on that of I were you.” Pete chimed in, his voice light. “You can’t have people questioning, now can you? What kind of things would they think? I was just calling to make sure you were actually planning on showing up at the aquarium at two. I would hate for it to slip your mind.” 

“Yes, Wentz, I’ll be there, so will my daughter.”

“Patrick’s daughter. I’m pretty sure you have been selfish enough for the last twelve years. Take some fucking tylenol, drink some coffee and sober the fuck up before you embarrass yourself Madeline.” Pete disconnected the call before Madeline could reply, his smile bright as he tossed the phone to the other couch and wrapped an arm around my waist, pulling me from Patrick’s side into his lap and trailing his nose along my neck. “You know, I don’t think she likes me very much.”

Patrick’s laughter was immediate and warm, my own following a moment later. “You may have a point there, Peter, And people always said you didn’t pay attention.” 

Pate beamed at Patrick’s words, his hand resting on my hip. “People talk too much, I am observant as a motherfucker. For example, I observe that Sweetheart looks almost as good in your clothes as she does mine.” 

“Stunning observational skills, Pete, truly.” Patrick’s voice was droll but there was a gleam in his eyes as he pushed up on the sofa, heading to the desk in the corner of the room. “I’m going to order breakfast before I dwell on what a shitty person my child’s mother is. Any requests?”

At the question, any lingering hostility from the phone call vanished and thoughts of breakfast and, more importantly, coffee were the focus, as it should be. 

 

“Did you see how the sharks reacted to the dinner bell, Mister Patrick? And the rays? ” Bronte’s voice was bright as she skipped ahead to catch up with Patrick as we wandered out past the 400,000 gallon tank that we had been watching behind the scenes for the last hour and a half. Pete and Madeline were not far behind; he was grinning and she looked well past miserable. The tension flowing off of her was almost palpable and Pete managed, through some impressive wrangling, to keep her away from Patrick and Bronte for the majority of our trip so far. 

“I did see that, Bronte, it was pretty neat.” Patrick’s voice held a certain softness that seemed to be reserved only for the girl, and his smile was gentle as she fell in step beside him, her mint green Chucks almost pristine beside his black boots, scuffed and well worn. 

“It’s like those dogs… ahh, Pavlove’s?” Bronte, tugged on the end of her french braid as she spoke, the concentration evident on her face. 

“You’re close. Pavlov, Pavlov’s dogs.” There was a hint of laughter in Patrick’s voice as Bronte gave a shrug. 

 

“We learned about them in school. Easy mistake, right?”

“Absolutely, very easy. You know, I bet Miss Charleigh could tell you a lot more about Pavlov’s dogs than I could.” 

Shooting Patrick a playful glare, I brushed my hair behind my ears and caught up with the two redheads. “I might be able to, but believe me, you don’t want me to. It’s all boring and I say that as someone who has a degree in psychology.” 

“Maybe. I thought it was interesting though, when we learned about it. I like science, but music is still my favorite class, even though Grandma says it doesn’t really count. “ Bronte was oblivious to the flicker of disgust that passed over Patrick’s face at the mention of Madeline’s mother, and it was probably for the better. “But Grandma also says I have to take piano lessons so sometimes she doesn’t really make sense.” 

“Bronte, be polite.” Madeline’s voice had lost a little bit of the edge that it had held all afternoon as we finally reached the museum exit, lingering in the lobby at the rain that was still pouring down outside.

“Sorry Mom, but it’s true. Grandma doesn’t always make sense. “ There was nothing but youthful innocence in her voice and Madeline was less than thrilled. 

“That is enough, Bronte.” Madeline was quickly growing frustrated and made little effort to hide it. “Your grandmother just wants what is best for you, you know that.”

“Sorry, Mom.” Bronte looked down at her shoes as she spoke, obviously uncomfortable.

Patrick and Pete both shot Madeline a glare, the anger barely concealed and Pete opened his mouth but I was just a bit quicker for once. 

“Sometimes even when people have our best interests at heart, what they do might still hurt or confuse us. But at some point in time, that person thought what they were doing was right.” The explanation was simple and held far more to it than Bronte could probably understand, but her glance between Madeline and Patrick told me that the girl was far more perceptive than anyone gave her credit for. 

“Miss Charleigh has a point, Bronte. And unfortunately, it’s time to say our goodbyes, we have to get home.” Madeline sounded happier than she had all afternoon and I could see Pete actually fighting with himself not to comment. 

Bronte, for her part, gave the kind of sigh that came with being eleven years old, and looked up at her mother with wide blue eyes and an innocent smile that was one-hundred percent her father. “Alright. Can I wait with Mr. Patrick and Mr. Pete and Miss Charleigh for just a minute while you go get the car?”

Madeline started to shake her head but apparently thought the better of it and acquiesced, fishing in her bag for an umbrella. “Fine. But when I pull up, I want you to come right out, alright?” 

“We will have her out as soon as possible, Madeline.” The ice had crept back into Patrick’s voice, although just barely, and Madeline rolled her eyes. 

“Of course. Peter, Patrick, Charleigh. It was a pleasure.” She didn’t speak another word before turning on her heel and heading towards the doors and out into the storm. 

“So, can I ask you a question?” Bronte spoke up as soon as Madeline had stepped outside, her blue eyes wide. 

“Anything you want, Kiddo. Ask away.” Pete spoke easily, nodding towards a nearby bench. 

Bronte plopped down on it, Pete on one side of her and Patrick on the other while I sat on Patrick’s other side, all of us leaning in to see the small redhead as she pursed her lips, the end of her braid back between her fingers. I could almost see her thinking.

“You’re my dad, aren’t you, Mr. Patrick?” The words were quiet but sure and Bronte didn’t waver as she met Patrick’s eyes, exactly like her own. 

There was a moment of stunned silence before Patrick spoke, his voice soft and almost sad. “Yeah, Bronte, I am.” 

The smile that flashed on the girl’s face at the answer was contagious and she bounced in place slightly. “ I knew it. We have the same eyes, and you’re short like me.”

“Is that okay with you? I know I haven’t been around at all, or ever, but I wanted to, I promise.” 

Bronte nodded with a wisdom far beyond her eleven years. “I like you a lot, and Mr. Pete and Miss Charleigh too. I know that Grandma made Mom keep me away from you. She is not a very nice person. But Mom always gave me the presents you sent and I have the cards too. The painting was my favorite, that’s why I sent it back. Grandma was furious about that.” The grin on her face was sly and almost Pete like, as he gave one very similar. 

“Thank you Bronte. You know, I have that painting in my office? I had it framed and it is behind my desk.’’ The pride in Patrick’s voice was evident and Bronte looked overjoyed.

“Really?” 

“Really, Mr. Pete and Miss Charleigh have both seen it.” Patrick tilted his head to Pete as he spoke and Pete nodded eagerly. 

“It was the first thing he put up after he painted the walls. The entire office was designed around it, actually.” The tone was teasing, but the words were true, at least that is what the slight blush that tinged Patrick’s cheeks said. 

“That is awesome. I can’t wait to tell Maja! She was my Nanny and helped me with brushes when I was painting it.” Bronte’s enthusiasm faded quickly, and her face fell. “So, I know you have to go back to Vegas cause that is your home, but will I see you again soon? I’d really like to.” 

Patrick looked stricken at the words and he took Bronte’s hand in his as he pondered. “I do have to go home, yes, but I’ll come back and visit as soon as I can.”

“Mr. Pete and Miss Charleigh too?” The hope in her voice was absolutely endearing and Patrick nodded, giving her hand a squeeze. 

“If they want to, absolutely. We have to talk with your Mom about it, but absolutely. I promise you, I’m not going anywhere.” Patrick’s voice almost broke and there was a shine in Pete’s eyes that wasn’t from the lights as Bronte threw her arms around Patrick’s neck and knocking his hat off as he pulled her tight into a hug. 

“So can I call you Dad?” The words were muffled against Patrick’s shoulder and I could see him nodding. 

“You can call me whatever you would like, Bronte. Dad, Patrick, something else entirely. That is all up to you. I think tha-” The sound of a horn honking outside broke the moment and Bronte sighed, giving Patrick a last hug before hopping up with an exasperated eyeroll that can only be pulled off by the very young. Patrick grabbed his hat and dropped it on her head with a smile.

“I have to go before Mom loses her mind. But I need a picture first!” The demand was quick, and I fumbled with my phone as Bronte ran back to Patrick’s side, tilting the too big hat on her head just so as she threw her arms around Patrick’s waist, and he rested his hand on her shoulder. Their smiles were identical. 

 

The pictures, and there absolutely was more than one, were over far too quick and Bronte was skipping back towards the doors. “Bye Mr. Pete and Miss Charleigh. Bye Dad.” With a last wave, and a grin Bronte dashed out the door towards her mother’s car. 

Patrick sat, stock still and almost stunned, as Madeline pulled off, Bronte waving until the car was out of sight. 

“She called me Dad.” There was an awe in his voice that I had never heard before, pure and wonderful. His eyes shone with tears, although they didn’t fall, and Pete dropped a kiss to his now bare head. 

“She really did. That kid is amazing, Patrick.” Pete seemed just as touched as Patrick was at the moment between father and daughter, and my own eyes stung just slightly at the sweetness of it. 

“She is. I don’t know how to even begin to follow that up.” Patrick ran a hand through his hair and it stuck up haphazardly, making him look like he just woke up. 

“I say food. Sweetheart has never been to The Purple Pig and I would possibly stab someone for their salt roasted beets and Mozzarella en carozza.” Pete, pushed up as he spoke and pulled Patrick with him. Hitting send on the text I was typing out, I stood and brushed at my jeans, grinning as Patrick’s phone chimed from his pocket. 

Not even glancing at it, he draped an arm over my shoulders and pulled me into his side, kissing my temple. “Thank you, Angel.” 

“You’re welcome, Patrick.” I meant it with everything in me, moved beyond words at being able to see him and Bronte together. 

“You two are hopeless. Come on, last one to the car is buying drinks and I am already perusing the wine list.” Pete didn’t miss a beat, running towards the door and then dashing out into the pouring rain, his laughter loud as Patrick and I followed behind.


	36. Chapter Thirty Six

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Storytime. Kind of.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so hi! I didn't think I was going to get this out today, but.... well, there is something wrong with me, so. 
> 
> This one pushes some boundaries that some folks may not be too comfortable with. If hints of DD/lg bother you, you may want to skip this round. Nothing serious, just a few mentions and a bit of role play. NOT age play, I don't roll with that. 
> 
> I'm pretty damn nervous about this one. Help soothe my frazzled nerves and drop me a kudos or comment? You can ask questions over at AllKindsOfPlatinumAndPercocet on tumblr too. I'll probably fangirl over you. Just sayin. I love to hear what people think, it really helps me figure out how to approach things. 
> 
>  
> 
> This has not been beta'd so any an all mistakes are mine and mine alone. 
> 
> dedicated to the amazing Flames_And_Jade for just being an absolutely beautiful soul. Thanks for existing, my friend. 
> 
> Love and lasagna to SnitchesANdTalkers for stroking my ego far past what it should be and listening to my endless babble. I'm not worthy. 
> 
> Thank you, Laudanum_Cafe, you are here on out the Edina to my Saffy. Or Maybe the Patsy. I don't know, BUT YOU ARE IMPORTANT, Thank you for the endless laughs. 
> 
> And thank you, so much to anyone who takes the time to read this tale, I appreciate it more than I can say. 
> 
>  
> 
> Aural Pleasure this round is 'I'm On Fire' Pick your poison; Springsteen. AWOL Nation or Tori Amos. Hell, all three if you want to live dangerously.
> 
>  
> 
> Happy reading!

No matter how many times I swiped my keycard at Flame, there was always that moment of fear that this time, for whatever reason, I wouldn’t hear that click of the electric locks and see the light flip from red to green. It was highly unfounded, and I had shared my fear with both Patrick and Pete, earning a rousing round of laughter. 

It had been seemingly forever since I had walked through those neary glowing doors, not since the night of the fundraiser, and as soon as I stepped into the cool, dark lobby, I felt lighter somehow; it was a familiarity that I could have never imagined my first visit over a year ago and there were more reasons for that than I could truly begin to fathom. 

Lindsey, all sleek pigtails and bright red lips, beamed when she saw me, waving from behind an ornate bouquet of hydrangea, orchids and lavender roses in a tall vase. They were beautiful but just looking at them made my eyes water. Lindsey, ever observant, slid the vas back behind her with a slight drop in her smile.

“It has been far too long, Charleigh, welcome back. And thank you so much for the gifts. I don’t know who loved the blankets more, The Boys or Siobhan.” The receptionist practically radiated joy as she spoke of her husbands and daughter. It was a beautiful thing to witness. 

“It was my pleasure, truly. I had far more fun than I should have picking out the onesies. I’m fairly certain you are going to be stuck with endless adorable gifts from now on.”

“Charleigh. A year’s worth of diapers and hand knit blankets are more than enough, truly. You didn’t need to do half of that.” Lindsey’s voice was gentle, and she had pulled out her phone, flipping through the screen before holding it out to me. The picture was gorgeous. Siobhan, tiny and dark haired with wide, wise hazel eyes was resting in Lindsey’s arms, wrapped in a downy soft blanket of the palest lilac, with Frank and Gerard on either side, both wearing matching expressions of awe and love. I couldn’t hide my smile, and I didn’t. 

“Beautiful, Lindsey. Thank you for showing me.” 

“You’ll be meeting her soon enough. Mr. Wentz volunteered your services as babysitter. He earned a smack in the back of his head for that one from Mr. Stump, but I am fairly certain they worked it out.” There was a soft, knowing laugh that lingered after her words and she shook her head. “You have your hands full with those two.” 

“Well, despite not knowing I was being volunteered, I would love to help out in any way that I can, feel free to call if you need me, please?” 

“Oh believe me, I will. Once I finally get back to feeling like myself, I am aching to get back here in a more recreational capacity.” The grin on Lindsey’s red lips was anything but innocent and I knew how she felt, in a strange way. 

“Well, I’m sure that you will be back before you know it.” 

“Damn right I will. Oh, speaking of.” The receptionists nose wrinkled as she turned and plucked the card from the floral arrangement, handing it to me with a small frown. “These came for you yesterday.” 

Blinking, I took the small card, my full name written in elegant script on the envelope, from Lindsey and flipped it open to pull out the small card. My stomach turned as soon as I saw the opening line and I shook my head, fighting a shiver as I ripped both the card and envelope in two, eyeing the arrangement. It was lovely, there was no doubt, but beyond something I would ever enjoy, allergies aside. Handing the torn paper back to Lindsey, I forced a small smile. 

“If you could throw that away for me, please? And if you like them, you are more than welcome to keep them. Otherwise, well, I don’t know. But they won’t be going home with me.” There was the slightest catch in my voice and Lindsey, observant as always, just nodded, her eyes darting behind me. 

“What won’t be going home with you, Angel?” Mr. Stump’s voice was soft and his hand rested gently on my waist as he stepped behind me, concern evident in his tone. I couldn’t turn around, not quite yet as I composed myself. 

“The flowers, Sir.” I was able to keep the tremor out of my voice and finally turned to meet Mr. Stump’s gaze, glancing upwards. His eyes were dark, mercurial blue in the dim lighting, and there was a definite look of displeasure on his face. 

Lindsey nodded efficiently, dropping the torn paper into the wastebasket behind her desk and giving both Mr. Stump and I a smile. “I’m sure I can find someone who would enjoy them. I think I will bring them down to Summerlin Hospital, I am sure the nurses would appreciate them.”

“That sounds wonderful, thank you so much, Lindsey.” My relief was genuine and Lindsey smiled. 

“Thank you, Lindsey, that is extremely thoughtful of you. If you would excuse us?” Mr. Stump’s tone was polite, kind even, showing a genuine care for the woman behind the desk as his hand moved easily to the small of my back.

“Of course, Mr. Stump. Miss Charleigh, I will be in touch about that offer.” There was a genuine grin on Lindsey’s face at the words, and I returned it in kind before being gently led down the quiet hall away from the main club and to the offices. 

“Will you enlighten me on that later, Angel? Although I am fairly certain I can guess.” Mr. Stump’s voice was soft in my ear and I gave a nod, shifting the bag that rested on my shoulder slightly. 

“Of course I will Sir, and I am certain you are correct.” There was no doubt in my mind that Mr. Stump knew exactly where the flowers had come from, but it was not something that I wanted to discuss at the moment, and I am certain that radiated from me. 

“Thank you, Angel.” Mr. Stump came to a stop in front of the door opposite his, and I took a moment to appreciate the beauty of the engraving in the dark wood. An intricate phoenix, rising from the ashes, stood out against the rich mahogany; it seemed an appropriate counterpart to the cork tree that was on Mr. Stump’s door, both images quite reflective of the men that conducted their business behind them. 

A sharp knock on the door jolted me from my reverie and it swung open almost immediately, to reveal a smiling Mr. Wentz on the other side. 

“Mr. Stump, Miss Gabriel, please come in.” The formality was not unexpected, but still a bit stiff in a sense, although the gleam of anticipation in Mr. Wentz’s eyes more than made up for it. His smile was, as always, contagious, and I dropped my head in greeting, entering the room as he stepped back, Mr. Stump following behind and closing the door, the lock clicking shut. “Please, make yourselves comfortable.” 

The layout was similar to Mr. Stump’s office, although decorated in tasteful tones of green and grey as opposed to navy, and there was a large wooden cabinet in the far corner covered with intricate designs that appeared to be a centerpiece of the room, despite its location. 

“Thank you, Mr. Wentz.” There was a certain levity to Mr. Stump’s voice, and I could see the small smile out of the corner of my eye as I sat in one of the two chairs across from Mr. Wentz’s desk as he settled in the other, Mr. Wentz himself leaning back in the chair opposite. 

“You are more than welcome. Thank you for coming. If you would like to go over ground rules before we start, we can, although I am more than familiar with both your and Miss Gabriel’s conditions and limits.” Mr. Wentz’s voice was cool and collected, a far cry from the sarcastic man that I knew him to be outside of the confines of the club, and the dichotomy was enthralling. 

“My only conditions are that I stay in the room and Charleigh’s personal limits are respected, although I know you will not have a problem with that. Charleigh, did you have any other questions or concerns?” There was the barest suggestion of fondness in Mr. Stump’s voice and he turned towards me with a soft smile. 

“No, Sir, I don’t but thank you for asking.” I pulled my bottom lip between my teeth, my eyes darting between Mr. Stump and Mr. Wentz. 

“Wonderful. Miss Gabriel, did you bring what I requested?” The voice was slow and easy, and Mr. Wentz’s eyes were bright. 

“I did, Sir, yes.” The title rolled off my tongue almost too easily and I could see Mr. Stump sit up just a little bit straighter. 

“Good. If you would like to go and get changed, you may.” I wasn’t dismissed per se, but I still enjoyed the permission, swinging my bag back up over my shoulder and ducking into the small room in one corner, the door clicking shut behind me. 

The request to be able to scene with Mr. Wentz hadn’t come out of the blue, I don’t think either Mr. Stump or I had been surprised by it, but it was still somehow surprising, mumbled against my neck as we had lain in bed, sleepy and serene on the last morning of our long weekend in Chicago. Although I had not given any thought to sceneing with anyone else since Mr. Stump had come into the picture, given the relationship, however undefined it was, that we had beyond Flame, it seemed only appropriate. 

Shuffling through my bag, I pulled out each item separately, laughing at how often the ensemble had been used in the last year. Kicking off my flats, I shimmied out of my jeans and sweater, folding them both and setting them aside before pulling on the various uniform components. High school was nearly a decade ago and the items were all tighter than they had been, although not unreasonably so. Glancing in the mirror, I tugged on the hem of my pleated, plaid skirt and tweaked the tie below the dark vest just so before stepping white knee-socked feet back into my black flats. I didn’t see the entire appeal, not really, but far be it from me to question anyone else’s tastes. 

 

Tightening the elastic at the end of my french braid, I took a deep breath before peeking out of the small room, smiling as I caught sight of Mr. Wentz and Mr. Stump seated side by side, their heads bent together in quiet conversation. “Sir?”

Both heads snapped up at the question, and there was no mistaking the delight on the men’s faces. “You are absolutely sinful, Sweetheart.” Mr. Wentz spoke up as Mr. Stump relaxed against his chair, eyes intent behind his glasses. 

“Thank you Sir.” 

“Come sit.” It was not a request, and the words were accompanied by a gentle tap to his lap and I nodded, crossing the room quickly and perching on Mr. Wentz’s knees as his hand slipped around my waist. “Now Sweetheart, we’re going to play a game if that is alright with you?” 

My eyes darted to Mr. Stump for the briefest of moments and he nodded just enough to be seen. 

“Of course, Sir.” 

“Good Girl. Now, I’d like you to go over to that cabinet and open it for me. Pick whatever book you would like and come back please.” The command was simple and easy, not requiring any further discussion and I stood, crossing to the lovely cabinet and carefully opening the doors. The sight that greeted me was both lovely and unexpected; a collection of books, all beautifully hardbound, lined one of the lit shelves. Below it were two more shelves, lined with carefully organized toys of every ilk; glass, silicone, leather and metal in every shape and size. Some I recognized, some I did not, but the care in which they are displayed speaks to their value, and knowing what I did of Mr. Wentz, there were more beyond what I could see. 

Turning my attention back to the shelf of books, I carefully let my fingers trail across the spines, the names both familiar and non. Miller, Nabokov, Lawrence and Nin were interspersed with both ancient and more recent titles. Considering my choices, I selected a work that was at least somewhat known to me before returning to Mr. Wentz’s lap and settling back down, my feet grazing the floor and the volume resting on my thighs as I faced the chair Mr. Stump sat in. 

“Well done, Sweetheart.” Mr. Wentz’s praise was low in my ear, and I sat up a bit straighter at the words, the response they evoked never failing to amaze me. Strong fingers unbuttoned my vest and pulled my shirt out of the waistband of my skirt, dipping beneath the crisp cotton to tease across my warm skin before both hands came to rest on my hips.. “Now I’d like you to read for me, please, out loud. But you need to focus, despite what I may be doing. Each pause or stumble will be taken out of that beautiful ass of yours, do you understand?” 

“Yes, Sir.” There was no hesitation to my response and I could see the smile on Mr. Wentz’s face out of the corner of my eye, echoing the one that Mr. Stump wore. 

“And your safe word?” 

“Maraschino.” 

“Good. Now, open the book and begin to read, please. Hold it up off your lap.” There was no room for me to speak, the instruction final, and I nodded as I opened the book randomly and began to read, my voice calm and level. 

“And it was down the Rue Bonaparte that only a year before Mona and I used to walk every night, after we had taken leave of Borowski. St. Sulpice not meaning much to me then, nor anything in Paris. Washed out with talk. Sick of faces. Fed up with cathedrals and squares and menageries and what not. Picking up a book in the red bedroom and the cane chair uncomfortable; tired of sitting on my ass all day long, tired of red wallpaper, tired of seeing so many people jabbering away about nothing. The red bedroom and the trunk always open; her gowns lying about in a delirium of disorder. The red bedroom with my galoshes and canes, the notebooks I never touched, the manuscripts lying cold and dead Paris! Meaning the Café Select, the D?me, the Flea Market, the American Express. Paris! Meaning Borowski's canes, Borowski's hats, Borowski's gouaches, Borowski's prehistoric fish – and prehistoric jokes. In that Paris of '28 only one night stands out in my memory – the night before sailing for America.” Mr, Wentz’s hands wandered slowly as I read, slowly unbuttoning my shirt to skirt over my ribs and just barely under the band of my bra. I managed to keep still, my voice even and sure even as his hands roamed, leaving a trail of warmth in their wake. 

“A rare night, with Borowski slightly pickled and a little disgusted with me because I'm dancing with every slut in the place. But we're leaving in the morning! That's what I tell every cunt I grab hold of – leaving in the morning! That's what I'm telling the blonde with agate-colored eyes. And while I'm telling her she takes my hand and squeezes it between her legs. In the lavatory I stand before the bowl with a tremendous erection; it seems light and heavy at the same time, like a piece of lead with wings on it. And while I'm standing there like that two cunts sail in – Americans. I greet them cordially, prick in hand. They give me a wink and pass on. In the vestibule, as I'm buttoning my fly, I notice one of them waiting for her friend to come out of the can. The music is still playing and maybe Mona'll be coming to fetch me, or Borowski with his gold knobbed cane, but I'm in her arms now and she has hold of me and I don't care who comes or what happens.” My breath caught and I stumbled over my words as my skirt is pushed up my thighs around my hips, fingertips slipping just slightly under the waistband of my panties, the white lace and silk soft and delicate. 

“That’s two, Sweetheart. Keep going.” The words were low and warm against my ear, and I nodded, clearing my throat and catching Mr. Stump’s gaze for the briefest of moments, his eyes dark and his grin sly. 

I was a bit less sure as I continued, fighting the urges to lean into Mr. Wentz’s touch. “We wriggle into the cabinet and there I stand her up, slap up against the wall, and I try to get it into her but it won't work and so we sit down on the seat and try it that way but it won't work either. No matter how we try it it won't work. And all the while she's got hold of my prick, she's clutching it like a lifesaver, but it's no use, we're too hot, too eager. The music is still playing and so we waltz out of the cabinet into the vestibule again and as we're dancing there in the shithouse I come all over her beautiful gown and she's sore as hell about it. I stumble back to the table and there's Borowski with his ruddy face and Mona with her disapproving eye. And Borowski says "Let's all go to Brussels tomorrow," and we agree, and when we get back to the hotel I vomit all over the place, in the bed, in the washbowl, over the suits and gowns and the galoshes and canes and the notebooks I never touched and the manuscripts cold an- and dead.” More stutters this time, and a gasp as a skilled hand slid into my panties, teasing through the wetness that had already started to build. 

“Oh, Sweetheart, this is going to cost you. Keep reading.” There was a knowing tone in his voice, almost eager, and I rocked my hips just slightly into his touch. “That makes ten. Keep. Reading.” 

“A few months later. The same hotel, the same room. We look out on the courtyard where the bicycles are parked, and there is the little room up above, under the attic, where some smart young Alec played the phonograph all day long and repeated clever little things at the top of his voice. I say "we" but I'm getting ahead of myself, because Mona has been away a long time and it's just today that I'm meeting her at the Gare St. Lazare. Toward evening I'm standing there with my face squeezed between the bars, but there's no Mona, and I read the cable over again but it doesn't help any. I go back to the Quarter and just the same I put away a hearty meal. Strolling past the Dame a little later suddenly I see a pale, heavy face and burning eyes – and the little velvet suit that I always adore because under the soft velvet there were always her warm breasts, the marble legs, cool, firm, muscular. She rises up out of a sea of faces and embraces me, embraces me passionately – a thousand eyes, noses, fingers, legs, bottles, windows, purses, saucers all glaring at us and we in each other's arms oblivious. I sit down beside her and she talks – a flood of talk. Wild consumptive notes of hysteria, perversion, leprosy. I hear not a word because she is beautiful and I love her and now I am happy and willing to- Fuck!” The curse is the climax of expert teasing and touches; of warm lips against my neck that drew more gasps than I could count myself. The book trembles and falls from my hands as a single finger presses inside me, slick and easy. Mr. Stump, his laugh low, caught the tome before it hit the floor, leaning back into his chair and resting it on his thigh. 

“I counted twenty three, Sweetheart. Did you keep count?” Mr. Wentz’s voice was raspy in my ear, one hand still gripping my hip even as the other teased between my legs. 

“I didn’t, Sir, I’m sorry. I tried.” My voice wavered and I gave up trying to hold back, rocking into the fingers that stroked with little care for what the actions would bring. 

“Ah, ah, ah. Not so fast, Sweetheart.” The fingers vanished, leaving me arching against nothing, an instinctive pout forming on my face. I could feel Mr. Wentz’s smile against my neck and caught a glimpse of the hand that he had just slipped from my panties as he extended it towards Mr. Stump. 

Adjusting his hat, eyes bright behind his glasses, Mr. Stump leaned forward and closed his lush lips around Mr. Wentz’s fingers, humming obscenely as the digit was pulled from his mouth with a quiet pop. “You, Angel, are delicious.” 

“Thank you, Sir.” My cheeks went pink, both with arousal at the words and the slightest hint of embarrassment as Mr. Wentz’s hand tapped against my ass. 

“Over my lap, Charleigh, facing Mr. Stump if you please.” 

I nodded at the direction, my knees shaking just slightly as I stood and adjusted my skirt before laying over Mr. Wentz’s lap, my ass in the air and my hands on the floor. 

“Good Girl, very good.” There was a laugh behind his words, and I felt the cool air on my thighs as my skirt was flipped up, revealing my panties. “These are very pretty, very sweet.” His fingertips slipped just under the flimsy material, caressing the curve of my ass. “ So, my ending count was twenty three, I’m going to round it up to thirty for that language. What do you think, Sweetheart, can this pretty ass of yours take thiry?” 

Although it was a question, there was no room for any answer other than yes and I nodded, a few strands of hair falling free from my braid. “Yes, Sir.” 

“Good.” Mr. Wentz had barely finished speaking before landing the first strike, his open palm stinging against my ass. “Count for me, Sweet Girl.” 

“One.” I my hands rested on the floor, and I let my head drop forward as the slight warmth from the spank faded and I was able to concentrate again. 

“I’m starting you off easy, don’t get used to it.” There was something alluring in Mr. Wentz’s voice and I rocked my hips just slightly, wiggling my ass. “Teasing me isn’t wise, Sweetheart.” The next strike came without warning, harder this time, and I yelped at the sensation, taken off guard for a moment. 

“Two.” 

“Louder next time.” The third strike was harder than the first two but not nearly unbearable, hot on the already pink skin. 

“Three.” I tipped my head up as I spoke, my gaze resting on Mr. Stump’s black trousers and shoes. 

“Better.” Strike four was expected but gentler than the prior one, the lighter impact almost a tease/ 

“Four.” My voice wavered just slightly as I pressed my thighs together, the flesh between my legs already slick with arousal. 

“You’re enjoying this aren’t you, Sweetheart?” There was a tease in his voice, and I felt Mr. Wentz shift just slightly as his hand slipped down over my ass to tease at the flimsy lace.”

“I-I am, Sir.” I stuttered just slightly, tripping over my words as I tried to focus again. 

“Good.” Mr. Wentz’s palm was sure and the blow precise as it landed on my warm skin. 

“Five.” 

“Mr. Stump, would you mind?” I couldn’t tell what Mr, Wentz was referring to, but I watch as Mr. Stump shifted in his seat, standing and walking out of my immediate view. It wasn’t until I felt his hands on my hips, calloused fingers slipping below the waistband of my panties to drag them off that I realize. He drew the action out longer than I thought possible, trailing his fingers down my legs from hip to ankle before carefully slipping the useless bit of lace and silk off my feet. He was back in my line of vision momentarily, crouching down to lift my chin and meet my eyes. 

“Head up, Angel.” His words were quiet, almost tender and I felt a smile pull instinctively at my lips just as Mr. Wentz’s hand landed again, harder this time, with no barrier, however flimsy, to keep skin from skin.

“Six.” It came out on a gasp and I rocked into the touch even as Mr. Stump’s nimble fingers reached for my hair, pulling out the elastic and working the braid loose so my hair hung free. 

“Good girl. Louder for Daddy.” The term was one that I had never used, or found any real interest in before that moment, but as it drifted to my ears in the commanding tone just moments before another stinging blow, I gasped, warmth spreading through me. 

“Seven.” I forced the word past the lump in my throat, my gaze still locked on Mr. Stump’s. 

Each blow after that was staggered; wither timing wise, in quick succession or waiting, drawing out the anticipation while clever fingers slipped down to caress the insides of my thighs or the tender, hot skin of my ass. The pressure varied as well, going from had smacks to gentle, almost teasing taps seemingly at random. By the time I had finally counted to twenty-nine, I was writhing over Mr. Wentz’s lap, my fingers scrabbling for purchase against the slick wood of the floor and my body teetering on the edge between too much and not enough. 

Mr. Wentz rested his hand on the small of my back, just above the waistband of my skirt, his palm warm and dry against my sweat slicked skin. 

“You’re doing so good, Sweet Girl. So good. Are you ready for the last one?” There was a tease in his voice that I couldn’t quite place. 

“Yes, Sir.” My throat was dry as I forced the words out, but they were clear. 

“Yes what,Charleigh?” The question was quick and direct, ringing in my ears like a gunshot and I struggled to find the answer until it occurred to me. 

“Yes, Daddy.” It was foreign to me, but was right in the moment husky and quiet. The soft groan from Mr. Wentz was almost inaudible, and I heard Mr. Stump chuckle. 

The last strike was sudden, not any harder than the others, but with a finality that made it burn just that little bit more.

“Thirty.” The word came out on a sob and my head fell forward, my eyes closing against the hot sting of tears. 

“Good Girl, Sweetheart. You did so fucking good.” Mr. Wentz’s hands moved to my waist, holding me steady for a moment. “Mr. Stump is going to help you up, okay?” 

I nodded mutely, hair swinging in front of my eyes as I watched the black shoes I had been focusing on dissapear from my vision. Familiar, warm hands gently smoothed my skirt down and guided me upright his arm tight around my waist as we made our way to the small couch. 

“Lay down, Angel, we need to get you taken care of.” Mr. Stump’s voice was fond, tender even, and I swallowed thickly as I stretched out on the couch. Gentle hands slipped my skirt back up, exposing my ass again. There were bruises forming, I had no doubt, but I also knew that I had taken worse. Mr. Stump’s eyes appeared in my line of sight as he settled on the floor beside the couch, his hand stroking gently over my head. “You did so well, Charleigh, I’m so proud of you.” 

“Thank you, Sir.” My voice was raw and wrecked and I sagged into the couch, limp with sudden exhaustion and a lightness that seemed almost out of place. 

“It’s gonna be cold for just a minute, Sweetheart.” Mr. Wentz’s voice was soft, and I nodded against the couch, my gaze still on blue eyes that seemed almost hazy while a cool, soothing lotion was smoothed over the sensitive skin of my ass; it smelled of honey and apples. The touch was so comforting, combined with Mr. Stump’s hand still stroking over my hair that my eyelids became heavy and I gave into the exhaustion that washed over me, blue eyes and a kind smile the last things I saw before I fell asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The book that Charleigh reads from is Tropic Of Cancer by Henry Miller. I highly recommend it. No copyright infringememt intended.


	37. Chapter Thirty-Seven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Charleigh falls asleep after a scene. AGAIN.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nerves warnings galore. All the nerves here. There is some seriously important content here, and I am, as always, taking some liberties with it because... well, it is my story and I am choosing to do that. 
> 
> If you want to either help alleviate those nerves or discuss the liberties I took, feel free to hit kudos or comment. I'm also on tumblr. 
> 
> Not betad. I know there are mistakes galore. I will fix them one day. 
> 
> For Flames_And_Jade because she is the best.
> 
> I'm not even remotely sorry, SnitchesAndTalkers . BUT ENJOY. And thank you for all of the cheerleading. I would be lost without it. 
> 
> Laudanum_Cafe thank you, sweetie darling, and also, well.. you know what is for you. How could I not. I HOPE YOU ARE HAPPY. 
> 
> Thank you for reading, y'all, it means so much to me. 
> 
> Aural Pleasure is 'The Blower's Daughter' by Damien Rice. This song can just be added to the seemingly endless list of songs I would do questionable things to hear Patrick Stump cover. It.. is long. We should talk about it on tumblr. AllKindsOfPlatinumAndPercocet. come say hi?

Waking up in Patrick’s spare room after a scene was becoming increasingly familiar and comfortable. The clock on the small nightstand glowed, 1:53 lighting up the darkness. Pushing back the comforter, I relished in the rustle for a moment before slipping out of the bed. My tie and vest had been taken off, as had my shoes and socks, a process that I remembered through my sleepy haze as I pulled my shirt straight and listened for some indication of where Patrick and Pete were. The TV was quiet and no music drifted up the stairs, so that was out. My feet were quiet on the hardwood as I headed down the hall towards the master bedroom. The door was cracked, pale golden light arching out over the floor and I could hear the sound of the shower running and a very familiar moan; many of them actually. 

Slipping into the room, I followed the sounds to the bathroom, pausing in the doorway with a small smile as I took in the sight before me. Despite the steam, I could very clearly see what was happening in the large, glass walled shower. It was a scene I had witnessed before, although from a very, very different perspective. Hopping up on the vanity, I swung my feet in the air, more than a little enthralled with the scene playing out in front of me. My ass was still tender and most likely bruised slightly, but not entirely uncomfortable and the marble felt lovely against the heated skin. 

Patrick was pressed up against the far wall of the shower, head turned away from the spray, his skin nearly glowing against the dark tile. His hair was wet, stuck to his forehead and his hands, familiar even from the distance, were splayed against the wall. The sounds he was making, loud moans, soft whimpers and everything in between were absolutely intoxicating. Pete was on his knees behind Patrick, his hand spreading his ass cheeks and his face between them. Judging by the sounds Patrick was making, and the first hand experience I’d had with Pete’s tongue, although not quite in the same capacity, each and every sound was warranted. 

It was fascinating to watch, if I felt a bit like a creeper, leaning forward on my marble perch to get a better view. I could tell, by this point in time, when Patrick was getting close; the shift was subtle but there. His gasps got a bit higher, a little more musical, and any words that he managed to get out got breathy and a bit more obscene. One hand slipped down the tile, no doubt to wrap around his length and his hips shifted back Pete moved easily, almost gracefully, as Patrick stroked his own cock. It didn’t take long, a few practiced flicks of his wrist, and Patrick was coming, his head dropped back and mouth open in a beautiful moan as the tile was spattered with white. 

Despite Patrick’s trembling limbs, Pete didn’t stop his attentions immediately, but he slowed gradually, finally pulling away and letting his hand trail over the curve of Patrick’s ass, a touch with which I had become intimately acquainted, before gently pulling on his hips to guide him down to the floor . Pete’s arms wrapped around him almost instantly, as Patrick leaned his head against Pete’s shoulder, relaxing into his embrace. The dark ink that trailed over Pete’s skin seemed ever starker against the contrast of Patrick’s fingers; they made a beautiful picture indeed. 

Patrick finally lifted his head up, the aftershocks of his climax finally waning, and leaned back just a bit, his hands slipping low over Pete’s back to disappear between his legs. He blinked at me for a moment, his eyes slightly unfocused before they went wide in surprise. “Charleigh.”

“Not quite, Trick, although I’m sure she would be happy to know you are thinking of her.” There was a smile in Pete’s words, and no doubt on his face, despite the hand that was wrapped around his prick and I watched Patrick smile, bright and easy. 

“Are you thinking of her, Peter?” Patrick’s voice dropped just slightly, the tone husky and deeper than usual, his eyes not leaving mine. My cheeks colored at the intensity of his gaze but I couldn’t look away. “I was watching earlier. She may not have seen your face, when she called you Daddy, but I did.” 

“At this exact moment? Maybe just a little. And you say that so- fuck you’re good at that- you say that so easily.” There was a catch in Pete’s voice and I watched as Patrick shifted back on his knees, his movements languid. “You forget that is a two way street. I like to watch just as much as you do.” His words were punctuated with soft groans as his hips bucked up into Patrick’s touch.

“Touche.” Patrick’s arm stilled and he pressed a kiss to Pete’s temple. “Tell me, Peter. If I hadn’t been sitting there earlier, if she were here now, what would you want? Don’t you dare hold back.” There was little room for argument and Patrick stayed stock still, Pete giving a little whine. 

“Her. I’d want her.” Pete’s voice was quiet, almost small, and his head fell back. 

“Obviously, Peter. Be. More. Specific.” Patrick dropped his head, punctuating each word with a sharp bite to the dark skin of Pete’s neck. “You are usually so fucking mouthy. Why clam up now, hmmm? What do you want, Peter?” I could see Patrick’s arm moving again as he spoke, his gaze flicking from Pete’s lap back up to me. “Tell me. Do you want to fuck her, Peter? Do you want to feel her clench around your cock as she comes? Or maybe tease that pretty little ass with your tongue? You’d be the first one, you know, you already were. Open her right up for one of your toys and then fuck her until she begs for more? I can just see it. That pretty glass flower plug you have in her ass and your cock in her cunt, her nails scratching down your back and those goddamn legs around your hips.” 

Pete dropped his head back and moaned, wanton and needy. “Yes. All of it, everything. Just fucking come on Patrick, let me come you asshole.” There was unrestrained petulance in pete’s voice and Patrick stilled again. I could see his lips purse as he shook his head, threading his free hand into Pete’s hair and yanking hard, drawing a groan from Pete. 

“Big demands. I’m pretty fucking sure I told you to talk, Peter. Now when you do that, you can come. Now. Talk. What would you do?” 

“Fuck, you’re an asshole. I want everything. You already know I am a greedy fucker, this isn’t a surprise. I want to see her on her knees for me, Jesus Christ. I know she is yours, but fuck, Patrick, just the idea makes me-” Pete’s words ended with a cry and I watched him fall apart beneath Patrick’s touch, shaking as his orgasm slammed through him. Patrick’s eyes never wavered, not for a minute, locked on mine even as Pete trembled in front of him. There was something in them, a glint even past the water that clung to the glass wall between us, that I couldn’t place, but I wanted to, more than anything. 

Blue eyes finally left mine, flicking to the floor for the briefest of moments, and I nodded, slipping easily off the counter and falling carefully to my knees. Crossing my wrists behind my back, I peeked up through lowered lashes at what little I could see in the shower. 

“Good boy. You were fucking perfect, Pete.” Patrick’s words were quiet, still audible over the shower spray, but only barely, and I could hear the pride in his voice. 

“I love you, asshole.” Pete’s voice was wrecked, the usual laugh absent with the words, although honesty shone through them, stronger than anything else. 

“I love you too, even when you are an impertinent little shit. “ Patrick’s smile echoed in his voice, and I couldn’t help the one that pulled at my own lips.

“You love me because of it, don’t lie. Now help me the fuck up. We’re both fucking sticky and the water is going to get cold soon.” The demand sounded a bit more like Pete, both teasing and pushing in the same breath, although there was still a certain huskiness to the words that belied how he had spent the most recent portion of his evening. 

I could see Patrick stand from my place on the floor, a hand extending to help Pete up before he spoke again, a certain joy in his voice “Can you hand me the shampoo, Peter?” 

“You can reach the goddamn shampoo yourself Trick, I don’t know why- fuck.” Pete’s voice stopped cold as I caught sight of his toes beyond the glass door. “How long have you been there, Sweetheart?” 

My cheeks flushed brighter as I looked up, meeting Pete’s eyes before catching Patrick’s. “A little while.” 

“As long as she needed to be.” Patrick was grinning, his face almost serene. 

Pete laughed, pressing a kiss to Patrick’s cheek and pushing the shower door open. “Come on in, Sweetheart. Let’s get you cleaned up before the water gets cold.”

Never one to deny, I pushed up off my knees and shed my clothes quickly, folding them in a quick pile before I stepped in the shower and was moved almost carefully beneath the warm spray. 

“So tell me, Sweetheart, how much exactly did you see?” Pete’s words were muttered against my neck as Patrick’s hands worked through my hair. 

I couldn’t help but smile at the question, weighing my answer for just a moment as I leaned back into Patrick’s touch, holding Pete’s gaze. “Everything.” The single word brought a laughter from both men, and a sweet kiss from Pete. 

Hands were lazy and gentle as hair was washed and skin was soaped up and rinsed off, the last of the suds slipping down the drain just as the water started to go cold. 

“Perfect timing.” Patrick’s voice was as he turned the taps off, stepping out of the shower and grabbing the fully towels from the nearby heated rack. “Come on, the bed is far more cozy that the damn bathroom. And besides, my fucking knees hurt.” He grumbled, ignore the stifled laughs from Pete and I as we all dried off in silence. 

Hair still wet and dressed in warm, wear-softened pajamas, the three of us climbed into the bed in the master suite, taking up far less room than we had. 

“So, Angel. About those flowers earlier.” The words held a note of caution as we lay in the dark, Patrick’s fingers never faltering as they carded through my damp hair, even as he spoke. 

“What flowers? Lindsey’s flowers?” Pete sounded confused as his thumb rubbed absent circles on my hip. 

“You already know about them, Patrick.” My reply was not harsh, just simple, although it didn’t seem to be enough. 

“I can guess. Tell me, Angel. Please, I am not fond of assumptions.” Patrick’s voice was far from demanding, although there was never an actual request in his words. 

“What damn flowers?” The hand on my hip stopped moving and I sighed, letting out a soft sigh. 

“Gabriel sent them. Yesterday, apparently.” 

“He what? Isn’t that fucker in Uruguay or something? That goddamn asshole. Doesn’t he realize what kind of damage he did?” The anger in Pete’s tone was one that I had only heard twice before; once at Elisa and the other at Madeline. 

“If he doesn’t he will when he comes back.” There was a cold edge in Patrick’s tone and I shook my head, pressing my face against Patrick’s shoulder, the cotton of his shirt soft against my face. 

“I don’t want to- can we not- shit.” As much as I wanted to fight the tears that stung my eyes, I couldn’t and they splashed against Patrick’s shirt. Pete shook his head silently, sliding closer to me and pressing a gentle kiss at the nape of my neck. 

“Angel you don’t- please don’t cry. He isn’t worth it. I promise you, you deserved so much better than what he could have ever offered you. Ever.” Patrick’s voiced cracked with emotion, and I indulged in the tears for a few minutes as the words spun in my head, flicking through images of my first few months at Flame; how different they had been, how different I had been. 

“I know.” I sniffled, my voice shaky despite the tears that had stopped. Wriggling out from between Pete and Patrick, I sat up, leaning against the headboard and drew my legs up, wiping my cheeks with shaking palms and resting my chin on my knees. “I know, and I can see that now, despite the fact that it hurts. I can remember it so clearly and I just- it fucking hurt. I don’t hold it against him, but I thought I was enough” I let my voice trail off with a sigh, pressing the heels of my hands against my eyes and blinking at the explosions of purple behind my lids. 

“I hold it against him.” Pete didn’t bother to hold back as he sat up next to me, draping an arm over my shoulders. “I absolutely hold it against him. He is a fucking coward.” 

Patrick shifted, stretching towards the other side of the bed and I heard the slide of the drawer and shuffling before he was sitting up as well, tilting my chin up with a gentle finger. 

“He wasn’t right for you. That does not for a second excuse what he did, and he will know exactly that when he comes back, but Charleigh, you are- fuck, you are so much more than enough. Saporta didn’t even begin to deserve what you offered him, I could see that from the first night I saw you in his office. Why do you think we were always there, Angel?” 

“Let me give you a hint, it wasn’t entirely because after we got home that night Patrick fucked me so hard I could still feel it two days later.” Pete, candid as ever, recieved a laugh and a swat to the back of his head for his honesty, but Patrick’s chuckle was warm and his cheeks pinked in the dim, silvery light that spilled in from the open blinds. 

“Not even a little bit, thank you Peter. It was because of you. There was, there IS something about you that I can’t- fuck.” Patrick, usually so sure of himself, stumbled over his words, huffing under his breath as he ran a hand through his already haphazard hair. “This isn’t- it doesn’t have anything to do with Saporta, and fuck him for his shitty timing. I should have done this awhile ago but I couldn’t figure out the right time, but I knew that first night you came back that- Goddamnit Pete, stop laughing!” 

Pete pressed his face against my neck, and I could feel his laughter, despite the obvious effort he was making at keeping it contained. “I’m sorry, Trick. You know I am. It’s just unusual to see you flustered. I’ll stop. I promise.” I glanced over to look at Pete and his expression was solemn, the faintest hint of a smile ghosting over his lips as he reached over to brush a lock of hair off of Patrick’s forehead. “You’re amazing, I promise.” 

Patrick’s eyes closed for the briefest of moments and he turned into Pete’s touch, lips brushing against his palm. “Thank you, Pete.” He let out a soft sigh and closed his eyes, hiding the clear blue gaze for a moment. 

“I have something I’d like to ask you. You are more that willing to say no, of course, and it won’t change anything at all but I just, I should have said something far before now.” He gave a small smile, sweet and almost worried, as one hand closed around mine, drawing it to his lips and pressing a delicate kiss to the tender skin on the inside of my wrist. “You don’t have to answer right now.” 

I narrowed my eyes in confusion for just a moment before a box was placed in my upturned palm. “You can open it. You don’t have to, but you can.” Patrick pulled his lower lip between his teeth and watched me carefully, glassesless and bareheaded; he looked almost painfully vulnerable. Pete’s hand clasped around Patrick’s and gave it a gentle squeeze, hold it almost carefully. 

Turning my attention back to the box in my hand, I blew an errant strand of hair from my eyes a carefully opened the lid, the hinge cracking at the movement. The box nearly tumbled to the bed as the dim light glinted off of what was inside. The bracelet sat nestled against black velvet, white gold bright as a series of stones in delicate shades of blue and purple twinkled in the silver light. Just below the bracelet, nestled in it’s own compartment, was a small, slim screwdriver.

The bracelet was familiar to me, for many reasons not the least of which because of the similar one that had been locked on Pete’s wrist for the entire time I had known him. As much as the jewelry was a status symbol and a declaration of love in the world outside the walls of flame, I knew, I had known for months, that there was more to it behind the walls. 

My throat went dry and my eyes blurred with tears, although far from the sad ones of earlier as I struggled for my words. “Patrick, I- does this- do you?” I couldn’t form a full sentence for the life of me, any semblance of coherency long gone as I looked up to meet Patrick’s eyes. 

He looked equally unsure and hopeful, a delicate balance that played across his features more openly than I would have imagined possible a year ago before his face fell in a blink. “It’s alright, you don’t have to say anything. I under-”

“No, it’s not that. Not no. Shit. Yes. I just- “ I stuttered as I tried to force the lump in my throat back down, and it took everything I had to take a deep breath. “ I’d be honored, Patrick.” 

My words hung in the air for a moment, the silence almost deafening, before Pete laughed, his words light. “Patrick, if you don’t kiss the girl, I’m going to.” 

The statement seemed to snap Patrick out of whatever thoughts he had been having because his frown turned to a smile that was absolute light, and he whispered two words before his lips met mine. “Thank you.”


	38. Chapter Thirty Eight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Breakfast is the most important meal of the day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well. The nerves are real. BUT we get some happiness. So. 
> 
> As always, this is unbetaed and probably littered with mistakes. I claim them. Mine, mine, mine. 
> 
> Comments and kudos literally make my day, and you do too if you leave them. Pretty please? 
> 
> Flames_And_Jade is a treasure and this is, as always, for her. Hot mess that it is. 
> 
> SnitchesAndTalkers is amazing and the biggest cheerleader I could ever ask for. Thank you. 
> 
> Laudanum_Cafe, well... I am super glad you love Patrick's ass. You are a delight, always. 
> 
> Thank you to everyone who takes the time to read, it is more appreciated than you will ever know. 
> 
> Aural Pleasure is "If I Die Young" by The Band Perry and Fall Out Boy. Go to youtube and listen to it. I HATE country music but GODDAMN PATRICK. 
> 
> Happy reading.

There was something about lazy mornings, especially during the week that felt especially indulgent, even more so when I woke up somewhere that was not my own bed. Smiling ridiculously as the memories of the evening before slowly trickled back, I stretched my arms over my head, watching as the sunlight that streamed in from the windows caught on the bracelet around my wrist, shimmering off of the white gold and setting the stones twinkling. 

I knew what it meant, of course, I’d known of the concept of collaring even before I had set foot in Flame, but I had never dared to imagine, even for a moment, that I may have this knowledge. There was something so inherently peaceful about it, the cool, heavy weight around my wrist; a constant reminder of everything that had happened over the last year, if not more. It wasn’t just the good things, either, the happy moments. Those were balanced by the hard moments; those times where I felt like I would shatter into a thousand pieces of anyone even looked at me. Those memories, the darker ones, served as such a perfect balance to the sweet moments that I was coming, slowly, to realize how important they were. 

“Penny for your thoughts, Sweetheart?” Pete’s voice rang out from the doorway, soft and with that smile that he always seemed to have in the mornings; sleepy with a certain wonder about it. 

Brushing my hair out of my eyes, I gave him a smile and sat up, the oversized shirt I was wearing, one of Pete’s I think, slipped towards my shoulder and I shrugged. “I’ll sell them for a dollar.” 

The laughter was immediate and genuine as Pete flopped down on the bed beside me. “I never pegged you for a country fan, Sweetheart. What would they think in Boston?” 

“I honestly don’t care what they would think in Boston. Believe me, I am not so interesting that my appreciation of one country song would make waves for The Good Senator’s campaign for Governor.” There was a lazy, sleepy-heavy honesty to the statement and Pete grinned, his eyes twinkling.

“Touche, Good Girl. I like you with some spine, always have.” His words were delivered with a genuine appreciation and he reached out, carefully running his finger along the bracelet. “I trusted Patrick a long time ago, and that trust has never, ever wavered, so when you came along, well... I’ve known him since we were kids, and we’ve been together, just us, in some way or another for the better part of a decade. And then you stumbled in, quite literally and I knew things were going to change. And they did, in ways I couldn’t have fucking imagined. You were there, but absolutely untouchable because of Saporta. But then he was just gone, and so were you.” Pete’s voice was gentle as he spoke, almost wistful, and he shifted to rest his head in my lap. “Patrick was a mess, although you didn’t hear that from me. You just vanished. And then you popped up again, in a rather unusual place.” I could see the smile playing on his face, tinged with fake innocence. 

“And where might that unusual place have been?” I had absolutely no clue, and I wracked my brain to try and figure it out. 

“It was Christmas in Las Vegas, when the locals take the town…” Pete sang with an exaggerated twang and it took me longer than it should have to put the pieces together and my fingers caught a tangle in his hair, pulling sharply against his scalp. 

“You were DJing at The Dollhouse. I knew I recognized that voice. You got me through that set, you know. And you were blonde. What was that about?” I tried to sound surprised, but it fell horribly flat and Pete just laughed.

“I lost a bet. Sidenote, do not EVER play poker with Patrick, that angelic face of his is a goddamn trap. But yes. You put on quite the show by the way. I may have used that information to my advantage when I got home that night. Maybe.” His lascivious grin said more than his words ever could and I shook my head, my fingers carding back through his hair. “Anyway, things settled a little and then you were at Flame again and I swear I thought Trick was gonna hyperventilate. You affected him in a way that I had never seen before, and I don’t think I ever will again. I knew the second that he had me bring you up here that you were going to have a place in our lives. I didn’t know exactly what that place was yet, but I knew.” His fingers absently twisted at the gleaming metal on his own wrist as he talked and I couldn’t help but smile. 

There was a low noise from the doorway and Pete and I both turned to look, only to find Patrick, already dressed, standing against the door frame, the sleeves of his red cardigan hanging over his hands and a fond smile on his face. “Don’t let me interrupt storytime, I was enjoying it.”

“Storytime is over, or so my stomach says. And besides, you are dressed already which means no fooling around and, more likely, food in the near future. Eggslut?” Pete asked the question as though he didn’t know the answer and Patrick hid his smile with a forced, long-suffering sigh. 

“Good morning, Charleigh. And I suppose, if you insist. Clothes first, however. Angel, Lindsey sent up your bag from yesterday, I’m fairly certain we can find something to go with your jeans if you would like.” There was a serene smile on Patrick’s face, one that I couldn’t help but return, and I found myself genuinely excited to head out, despite the comforts of the bed. 

“Come on. Sweetheart, daylight is burning.” Pete was nearly bouncing as he pulled me off the bed, the prospect of breakfast apparently outweighing the luxury of a lay in, and Patrick’s musical laughter filled the air as Pete was suddenly inspired, dashing around the room and throwing clothes at the bed. 

“Pete, you are ridiculous and I love you. Don’t ever change, Baby Boy.”

 

“This is sinful.” I nearly moaned as I swallowed, twisting off a piece of my warm baguette and dipping the edge of it in the perfectly runny yolk of the egg in the jar in front of me. 

Pete and Patrick, both wearing sunglasses and smiles, laughed around their own sandwiches, and Pete gave an appreciative nod, toasting with his cup of coffee. “I told you you’d love it. Everybody does.” 

“Except Vegans.” Patrick’s statement was blunt but the smile he wore behind his coffee cup negated any annoyance that could have possibly been in the words. 

“Vegas don’t know what they are missing, this is fucking delicious.” Pete spoke with his mouthful and Patrick just shook his head, carefully adjusting the black hat that sat on his head. 

It was a beautiful day, even for Vegas, and we had eschewed the bright yellow stools of the restaurant to sit on the patio, watching the midmorning pedestrian traffic pick up. I was sandwiched between the men, crowded around one side of the small table, and Pete didn’t bother to even pretend not to steal a piece of my bread. 

“Peter, let the girl eat, Jesus Christ.” The words were accompanied by a light smack to the back of Pete’s head, knocking his dark hair in front of his eyes and earning both of us a grin. 

“Oh, hit me again, Daddy. You know how I like it.” 

“You did not just… never call me that again, ever. Especially not if you actually want to get hit again. That shit is fucking creepy, Peter, and it makes you sound like a teenage girl.” Patrick frowned and there was obvious irritation in his voice but he rested his hand on the back of Pete’s neck, giving it a soft squeeze. 

“It wasn’t creepy last night when Charleigh said the same thing.” There was nothing but innocence dripping from Pete’s voice, however fake as it may have been. I shook my head with a laugh, brushing some crumbs off of the borrowed cardigan that I was wearing over one of Pete’s undershirts, belted tight around my waist. 

“That wasn’t even-”

“Charleigh?” The voice calling my name stopped me mid sentence and I grinned, wiggling out of my seat to jump up and throw my arms around the neck of the comparatively tall man that was behind our table. I squeaked aloud as his arms wrapped around my waist and he spun in a circle before setting me back down, breathless with laughter

“Brendon, it’s been forever! How are you? What are you doing here? Have you heard from Hayley? Would you like to sit down?” The questions were rapid fire and I tucked the hair that had slipped from my braid back behind my ears, pausing at the braying laughter from behind me. My face went bright as I looked back at Pete and Patrick, both with amused smiles on their faces. “Sorry, do you mind?”

“Not at all, A- Charleigh.” Patrick slipped just slightly, catching the endearment quickly before turning his attention to brendon. “Please, you are welcome to join us.” 

Brendon seemed pleased with the invitation and slipped around to the chair that was on the other side of the table his smile wide as he set down the . “Thank you, I appreciate the offer. I’ve been out for the last four hours trying to find the right gift for my mother for her birthday. Any and all suggestions would be more than welcome. I’m Brendon Urie by the way.” 

“I’m sorry, Brendon, this is Pete Wentz and Patrick Stump, Patrick, Pete, this is Brendon. He and I partnered together back in Boston on a summer program and he is one of the dancers that works out of the studio I teach at.” I gestured back and forth between the men as I spoke, taking a long sip of orange juice once I was done. 

“It’s a pleasure, Brendon.” Patrick’s voice was smooth and genuine as he shook Brendon’s hand, Pete following suit. 

“Likewise, thank you. Charleigh is absolutely one of the best partners I have been lucky enough to dance with. How do you all know each other?” Brendon pushed his sunglasses up on his head, his back facing the sun itself, and looked between the three of us, eyes sparkling and a puckish grin on his face. 

My eyes went wide at the question and I choked on my swallow of juice, Patrick’s hand immediately resting on my back as I finally swallowed correctly, both pete and Brendon laughing at my expense. 

“We met through a mutual friend.” The answer was effortless, not a surprise coming from Patrick, and delivered with a winning smile. Brendon’s eyes narrowed just a bit as though assessing the situation before deciding that my breakfast was more promising than an interrogation. 

“That’s one way to put it.” Pete mumbled around his coffee cup with a snort, earning yet another slap to his head and a mildly annoyed glance from Patrick that Brendon just took in as he chewed on the end of his bread. 

“Peter.” There were volumes spoken in the single word, and Pete dropped his head almost immediately in a silent apology, the silence that followed was heavy but brief not uncomfortable and I fiddled with the straw in my cup. 

“So, are you gentlemen from Vegas originally?” Brendon’s voice was smooth and easy. He had always been exceedingly personable, bordering on gregarious, but there was a quiet serious to him, especially when he was working that most people missed. It was absolutely their loss. 

“No, we are both from Chicago originally, but we have been here for nearly a decade now. As much as I resisted it at first, it had grown on me. I actually find myself missing it when I’m home.” Patrick was wistful, the same softness that always slipped into his voice when he spoke of his home was evident and I smiled, spinning the jar from my breakfast between my fingers, the sun gleaming off my bracelet. “We were there not that long ago and it was like another world.” 

“Weren’t you in Chicago recently, Charleigh?” There was a bright smile on Brendon’s face, bordering on teasing and I shot him a look behind my sunglasses. 

“I was, yes. The wedding of a very dear friend. It turns out Pete and Patrick are friends of the groom’s.” 

“Is that the mutual friend?” Brendon wasn’t nosy by far, simply curious, and it was endearing, honestly. There were so many people that were fake in my life, that I tried to surround myself with the best, most genuine people that I could. 

“No. The mutual friend is actually not around anymore. I don’t think he is one to ever get married. If so, well, I’m sorry for his wife.” There was undisguised disgust in Pete’s voice and Brendon raised a brow, not bothering to hide his interest. 

“Brendon, where have you been looking for your gift? Perhaps we can be of some help.” The change of subject was quick and easy, once again thanks to Patrick. 

“I was heading over to the Forum shops next actually if you all would like to join me. It’d be nice to have a woman’s input. And Charleigh always has had wonderful taste.” 

Pete hid a chortle behind his hand and got looks from both Patrick and I, although he shrugged them off with a grin. “You know, I have to agree with you on that, Bren. Charleigh’s taste does lean towards the exceptional.” 

Patrick just shook his head, clucking his tongue as he gathered the trash from our breakfast. “We are actually headed back that was actually, if you would like some company.” 

“Awesome, I have some ideas but I have a hard time making a final decision sometimes, a bit of additional input would probably go a long way.” Brendon gathered his belongings and slid his sunglasses back in place as he stood. 

“Well, I’m sure we will help in any way we can.” Patrick rested his hand on my lower back as we all headed towards the street. The was pressure a warm, gentle reminder of his presence, and although the gesture was not missed by Brendon, who was heavily engrossed in a discussion about music with Pete, he didn’t say anything. I had good people. 

 

“I’m afraid this is our stop.” The words were a bit reluctant, although they were welcome to hear. Vegas, as much of a pedestrian town as it was, was not meant for the flimsy flats I was wearing and I was starting to feel the last three hours of shopping. 

Brendon, laden down with bags, glanced up at the granite steps and elegant archway that served as the back entrance to Flame and a direct path to the apartments on the upper floors with an appraising look on his face. “I’ve always wondered what this building was. You can’t really miss the doors round front.”

“Well, it isn’t all apartm-” Pete’s voice trailed off as the door at the top of the stairs opened and a very familiar, and fairly unwelcome figure stepped out, pausing to lean against the railing with an easy, dark smile. 

“Well, well. Carino. Stump, Wentz. Pretty boy I don’t know yet.” Gabriel’s voice was cool, as though he hadn’t a care in the world while he ambled down the stairs. “Fancy meeting you here.”

“Not at all actually, we fucking live here. When did you sliter back in? And why?” Pete’s voice was hard, and I could see his hands clenched into fists from where I stood, despite the bags that he held. 

“Now Petey, you don’t seem happy to see me.” There was undisguised amusement in Gabriel’s voice as he reached the bottom step, stopping directly in front of us. 

“Funny fucking thing about that, Gabey, I’m actually not.” The emphasis on the name was not lost on anyone and Brendon shifted from foot to foot, no doubt sensing the tension. 

“Pretty Boy I don’t I don’t know yet, I’m Gabriel Saporta. I apologize for my colleagues lack of manners.” Gabe offered a hand and Brendon, ever polite, took it with a nod. 

“Brendon Urie. And no apologies are needed, at least not if you are making them for someone else. Something tells me that there are some that need making, however.” Brendon was observant, far more than anyone gave him credit for, and I sent him a small smile. 

“I’m not entirely sure about that. Carino, what do you think?” I opened my mouth to answer, but my throat was suddenly dry. Patrick, standing stock still beside me snorted in disgust and rested his hand on my waist, a movement that Gabriel picked up on. “Well, what do we have here?”

“Saporta, enough. If you’ll excuse us.” Patrick’s voice was chilling, although Gabriel had little reaction. 

“Have you been having fun while I’ve been away?” Dark eyes flicked over me, head to toe, and I could see the connections in Gabe’s mind. “You have been having more than fun, haven’t you? I’d recognize that sweater anywhere.” 

“Gabe, what the fuck are you playing at? Just fucking move.” 

“Language, Peter. I know you were taught better than that.” Pete took a step forward at the very pointed insult, pausing only when Patrick physically stopped him. 

“Not worth it Pete. We can just go around the front.” I could hear Patrick struggle to keep his voice even as forced a smile at Brendon, reaching out to take the two bags he had been holding for me. 

“That explains it. What a pretty little bauble, Carino. Patrick always has been set in his ways.” Gabe’s eyes moved from my outstretched hand to Patrick, his expression unreadable. “I heard whispers, but I had to come see for myself. Tell me, Rick, how has she been?”

“Saporta.” Pete’s voice was a warning, although one that went unheeded as Gabriel grinned, leaning down and lowering his voice to address Patrick.

“If I had known she was willing to share, I might hav-” The words were stopped cold as Patrick’s fist connected with Gabriel’s cheek, sending the taller man stumbling back against the steps. His shock was evident, despite the smile that he wore, and I blinked back tears as Patrick wrapped an arm around my waist guiding me past the bleeding man and inside the building, Brendon not far behind. Pete paused beside Gabe, spitting down on him before following us inside and turning the lock behind. 

The elevator doors closed with a quiet whoosh and there was silence, save for the tinkling of the piano over the speaker. 

Brendon just shrugged nonchalantly, pushing his sunglasses up on his head. “If you’re gonna throw the first punch, make it a good one.”


	39. Chapter Thirty Nine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Conversations and confessions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this is so late, life got away from me. 
> 
> Comments and Kudos make me grin like Patrick performing The Last Of The Real Ones. Hit those little buttons and make my day. Or come and chat on tumblr, I don't bite, honest!
> 
> As always, this is unbeatd because well, it is me. Mistakes are mine and mine alone. 
> 
> Things get a bit heavy a few times here and are very much a personal interpretation. Feel free to question and discuss, I love knowing what people think. 
> 
> Dedicated, as always, to Flames_And_Jade. You are a beautiful soul. 
> 
> Thanks and baked goods go to SnitchesAndTalkers for listening to my ridiculous babble and always being encouraging, even when my ideas are questionable. 
> 
> Cheers to Laudanum_Cafe for being my favorite chicken and an absolute delight. Boli and Stoli, Sweetie Darling. 
> 
> Thank you to everyone who takes the time out of their busy day to read this increasingly convoluted tale, I hope you all enjoy. 
> 
> Aural Pleasure: 'Sway' by The Perishers Just because I love it.

The sound of ice breaking echoed through the cold silence of the apartment followed by the clink of crystal against granite. Patrick was in the kitchen and Pete was staring intently at the shelves of vinyl, trailing his fingers over them until he found what he was looking for. With skilled movements, he slipped the record from it’s sleeve and almost reverently set it on the turntable, and within moments, Elliott Smith was pouring from the speakers. 

Brendon was sprawled out along the loveseat, his curious gaze flitting around the apartment. I couldn’t quite read his expression, which didn’t bother me so much. I had known Brandon for nearly a decade on and off, and he had never once proven to be anything but honest and trustworthy. Tucking my legs beneath me, I pulled the already too long sleeves of my borrowed cardigan down over my hands balling the excess material in my fists. 

“I think that probably calls for some drinks.” Patrick entered the living room four glasses clasped easily in his hands, three with ice and what I knew was exceptional whiskey, and the other with ice water. I took my glass with a smile, pushing my hands back through the sleeves of the sweater and took a long swallow; I hadn’t realized exactly how thirsty I was. 

Pete settled on one side of me, and after handing Brendon a drink, Patrick on the other, patting his lap in a familiar and very welcomed gesture. Toeing out of my shoes, I shifted to rest my head on his lap as Pete rested a hand on my ankle, his thumb tracing lazy circles over the bones. 

“Questions, B?” Pete’s statement was blunt but not at all cold and and there was a smile behind his words, even if it was small. 

“Well, a few. Thank you for the drink by the way.” Brendon gave a nod to Patrick, raising his glass. The amber liquid sparkled in the later afternoon sun. 

“You are very welcome, Brendon.” Patrick nodded simply, his fingers working through my hair, the easy movements instantly soothing. 

“Okay, first and foremost, where in the hell did you learn to punch like that? That guy had at least a foot on you.” Brendon always did have his priorities in check. 

Patrick chuckled and Pete outright laughed, even I couldn’t hide my smile. “Growing up in Chicago. I went off the rails for a bit. My mother would say I was a scrapper.” 

“Your mother said you were losing your fucking mind. She was worried about you, and I can’t blame her.” Pete’s interjection was easy and honest, earning him a smile from Patrick. 

“Well, I did show up at home with more visible bruises than I probably should have, but I never lost. And besides, asshole, you gave me at least one of those black eyes.” There was affection in Patrick’s voice and Pete beamed. “I finally managed to find a healthy way to channel my self-destructive impulses, totally by accident, might I add. I was all of nineteen, and stumbled into a BDSM club. The rest, as they say, is history.” The words were delivered with such a casual grace that I couldn’t help but blink. Glancing over at Brendon, he had a thoughtful look on his face and was holding his empty glass between his fingers. 

“Well that explains a lot, actually, thank you.” Always polite, Brendon set his glass down on a coaster and tucked his legs beneath him. “So legs there is who, exactly? I mean, aside from a fucking douche, obviously.” 

Pete snorted at Brendon’s very accurate statement and patted my ankle, looking over at me, even as Patrick looked down. “That was one of Pete and my’s co-workers, Gabriel Saporta. He is usually a bit less of a total fucking ass than that. Apparently he decided he was going to show his ass in exquisite form today. He has been away for months and can’t seem to grasp the fact that things change. Although, and I am loathe to admit this, I am fairly certain he was far past three sheets to the wind. I could smell the alcohol on him before I hit him.” There was no small amount of disdain in Patrick’s voice and his fingers quickly resumed running through my hair. 

“Yeah, no. Alcohol isn’t an excuse for that behavior. Jealous, petty little motherfucker. I thought he would at least show back up, if he did, with something resembling an apology. It goes to show he is nowhere near a decent human being. Motherfucking cunt.” Pete’s voice was cold and he eyed Patrick’s glass for the briefest of moments before it was handed over and downed quickly. 

“Don’t hold back, Pete, tell us how you really feel.” There was laughter, sweet and pure, behind Brendon’s words and t brought a smile to everyone’s face. 

 

“No B, no I do not. And I will never apologize for that.” Pete was matter of fact, as always, and it was incredibly endearing.

“Nor should you. So how exactly does Charleigh factor into this? And what exactly is it that you two do?” Brendon’s questions were honest and were posed in a way that showed genuine interest, although even from my position, I could see the connections being made behind his bright eyes. 

“Angel, you wanna take this one?” Patrick’s voice was soft, and I gave a small nod, closing my eyes for a moment before I weighed my words. 

“It’s kind of a long story, I think but to sum it up, Gabriel was my Dom when I first started in this lifestyle. I met Pete and Patrick while I was working with him. And then Gabe left with nothing more than a letter. I was a mess for a while, to put it lightly.” The memories pricked at the edges of my mind, teasing their way in. While they still hurt, the pain that they held before had numbed to a dull ache. My fingers played with the bracelet on my wrist, spinning the cool metal under my fingertips. 

Brendon, for his part, took in the information easily, nodding his head. “Alright that makes sense, I mean from what limited knowledge I have. And I think I know the time period you are talking about. It was when you cut your hair, right?” I gave a nod and Brendon frowned, displeasure clear on his face. “I’m sorry, Charleigh. So, I’m guessing that you two are Dominants, then? Is that the right term? I’m not exactly familiar with any of this.” 

Pete bobbed his head. “You got it in one, B. It’s a little more complicated than that, in some senses of the word, but essentially, to answer your question, yes.” 

“I stayed away for a while and then when I came back, I met Patrick again, and Pete, and then the rest, well… here we are.” I smiled as I spoke, leaning into Patrick’s touch. 

“Well, okay. I still have lots of questions, but a lot of them seem both irrelevant and nosy. Most importantly though, are you happy?” There was no masquerading the sentiment and concern in Brendon’s voice and I was touched by his care. 

“Blissfully so, thank you.” It was the truth it it’s most basic of forms, and something I felt down to my bones. “And you can ask questions if you want, it’s not nosy.”

“Good. That is all that matters.” Brendon spoke with a definitive nod of his head and shifted to stretch his legs out in front of him. “Okay, so. Questions. Does that mean that you are Charleigh’s Dominant, or?” There was a very careful edge of uncertainty as Brendon trailed off and Patrick laughed softly. 

“Yes, that is exactly what that means. The art of submission, and it absolutely is an art, is a gift. Being able to give so much of yourself to another person so freely, to trust them with not only your physical safety, but your emotional well being is a huge and important undertaking. Despite what is bandied around now, especially the misinformation in the wake of that fucking trash book series, BDSM is not about inflicting pain or sexual pleasure. Yes, both of those factor into this life, but honestly it is about trust. Trusting someone to care for you when you are at your most vulnerable and trusting that a person who has put themselves into your hands and care is doing so for the right reasons. There is a definitive chance for harm that surpasses the physical. That is the reason that it is so important that you are able to find someone that fits you, no matter if you are a Dominant or a Submissive. That doesn’t always happen on the first try, as Charleigh can attest. Does that mean Gabe is a bad Dominant?” Patrick spoke quietly but with the elegance and passion that I had come to associate with him from the first time we spoke.

“Yes it fucking does.” The interjection earned Pete a smile and a gentle slap to the back of his head. 

“It does not, Peter. It means that he was not the right Dom for Charleigh. I am keeping my personal feelings on him aside for the moment. But, as I was saying, submission and the Dominant/Submissive relationship is based upon trust, if there is no trust then there is no relationship and it is simply another way to get your kicks. I have clients, as does Peter, that are not specifically ours. People will call and book an appointment with someone simply for a way to escape from their lives for a little while. Sometimes being a human ashtray or getting paddled by a stranger is just an adventure. When you take someone on as a submissive, especially someone new to this life, there is so much more involved in that. It was an honor when Charleigh asked me to train her, especially after I knew how her time here had begun, and it is still an honor to this day.” As he trailed off, I could see the smile on his lips, and Patrick ducked his head just the slightest bit. “Sorry, I get a little carried away sometimes.”

Brendon looked content and nodded as though he was still processing the information. I couldn’t blame him, there was a lot to get in order. “That was exceedingly well said. I have little to no knowledge of your lives but I can see the respect and trust that you take in every aspect and it’s frankly amazing. So, Patrick is Charleigh’s Dom then, and he trained her. How do you fit in Pete?” 

Patrick and Pete met eyes, a silent conversation like so many others I had witnessed transpiring and ending with Pete nodding.

“Correct. That is a bit more difficult. Patrick and I have known each other since we were kids and he actually was involved in this life before I was. I, of course, followed along because can you blame me? He trained me, and collared me in fact. While we don’t technically have that relationship now, not since I became a Dom myself, we are still very much involved, as we have been for nearly a decade.” Pete’s hand fiddled with the bracelet on his wrist, and both Patrick and I smiled at the simple gesture, and the meaning that it held. “ I have, along with Patrick, been around since Charleigh’s first visit, although not necessarily in the same capacity as Trick. While she is not my submissive, she is very, very dear to me and I have been fortunate enough to have been able to scene with her. Now, what happens outside the club is totally different. Once we are through that elevator, then things are a bit different. We don’t stop our roles, not really, but when we leave the club, protocol is not followed quite as much, for the most part. There has to be a distinction between work and home.” 

Brendon’s brow creased in confusion for the briefest of moments as he listened to Pete, not at all missing the touch of fingers to metal. “I think I understand that now, at least a little bit. Believe me, the differentiation between a professional persona and a work one is not something I am unfamiliar with. But, and bear with the naive guy here, can you explain what exactly you mean by scene and collaring?” The pure interest in Brendon’s voice was more than passingly familiar to me, and I couldn’t hide my smile at the memories of a night that seemed a lifetime ago when I had wandered into Flame for the first time. 

“Collaring is a bit complicated and there really is no clear cut definition, to be honest. It depends on both the Dom and the Sub involved. I have been doing this for a decade and in that time, while I have trained dozens of submissives, I have only collared two. For me, it is a symbol of commitment beyond just an understanding, past the protocol of the club. There is an emotional component that, while there always is, it is just something more. A lot of people, upon first entering this world, seem to think of it as a wedding ring, and to some people, it is, but not to me. To me, it is a symbol of how much I care for a person, both inside and out of my work. It is a symbol of commitment and, more importantly, trust on every level, above and beyond what I see in my office, and that is truly something that is immensely rare. But, like I said, there are as many different rationale behind collaring as their are Dominants who chose to give their collar to a submissive. And then there are different kinds of collars as well. It’s a bit clear as mud, but I hope that helps.” Patrick’s passion for what he was saying was evident and, despite never hearing these exact words before, I was moved by them. 

Brendon, his observant gaze darting between the three of us, smiled knowingly. “Now does a collar always have to be an actual collar?” Although the question, and the wide brown eyes were the picture of innocence, there was more than a bit of smugness in the question. 

Laughing, Patrick touched a finger to the tip of his nose. “Correct. As much as I love the idea of a traditional collar, and Pete actually has one for certain events, I have used bracelets for my two collared submissives.” 

Brendon practically bounced in his chair, his smile blinding. “I knew it! I knew their had to be something else going on. As long as you are all happy, that is what matters.” 

“Thank you, Brendon. We are, honestly.” I gave my friend a grin, genuine and warm, before I laughed as Pete’s fingers tickled over the bottoms of my feet. 

“It isn’t a strictly conventional arrangement, but I’ve never been a fan of convention.” Pete spoke with such an offhand tone, that Patrick laughed softly. “As for scenes, cause Patrick got all caught up in his fucking mush, a scene is, essentially any interaction involving the BDSM dynamics between your partner and yourself. They can be public or private, involve sex or be completely sex free and can lean towards whatever flavor of kink you like. It is all dependent on the participants. The most important thing, however, above everything is that a scene, and really any interaction in this life, especially one involving power dynamics, is safe, sane and consensual. If any of those elements are lacking then it is nothing but some Fifty Shades type bullshit that you need to get the fuck out of immediately.” He was not quite as eloquent as Patrick, but Pete got his point across easily and Brendon nodded, tugging his lip between his teeth for a minute. 

“Okay. I won’t say I fully understand cause I don’t think that this is something that can be completely comprehended in one conversation, but I will say that I am curious as hell, I won’t even lie.” Brendon, always honest, was nothing less than now and Pete threw his head back with a laugh. 

“I knew I liked you, B. You know what they say about curiosity, right?”

“It killed the cat? Good thing I don’t have nine lives. Although I did dance Puss-In-Boots once.” 

“And you danced it wonderfully, if I recall.” He had, I knew first hand, and Brendon winked at me. 

Patrick simply shook his head, his fingers rubbing gentle circles along my scalp while Pete’s smile turned into an outright grin. “Peter, what are you thinking?”

“I was simply wondering if B would be interested in getting a drink downstairs, maybe seeing some sights.” The innocence in Pete’s voice was feigned, but the meaning was clear. 

“Downstairs?” Brendon seemed confused, although he really couldn’t be blamed. There was still quite a bit that he did not know. 

“Downstairs. The ground floor is Flame, the club both Pete and I work at. If you wanted to get a more in depth look at what this entails, that would be the place to start. And you do not have to, by the way, so please don’t feel pressured.” Patrick was reassuring in that way that seemed exclusive to him and Brendon nodded almost immediately. 

“I think I would like that actually.” There was no hesitance to the words, but there was a certain element of nerves behind them that I knew all too well; that combination of excitement and fear that resonated through your veins before something big happened. 

“I knew it! Give us a few minutes to get changed and we can head down the rabbit hole.” Pete was off the couch and heading towards the stairs before anyone else could speak and Patrick laughed as I sat up. 

“I think that is about an apt as a description as there is. If you’ll excuse us for a few minutes. Make yourself at home, this won’t take long. I think it will be a good night, despite how it began.” Patrick was sincere, as always, and he rested a hand against the small of my back guiding me ever so gently towards the stairs. 

“I think you are right, Patrick. I think you are right.” The excitement in Brendon’s voice was contagious, and I gave my friend a wave and a smile over my shoulder as I headed up the stairs. I was going to be a good night.


	40. Chapter Forty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Down the rabbit hole....

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, it feels like it has been forever. Really though, three days seems like an eternity when I got used to updating every day, I hope all y'all are still with me. 
> 
> This was a nerve-inducing chapter for many reasons, not the least of which because I got blocked TIME AND AGAIN, and these kinksters of mine would NOT play nice no matter how much I wanted them to. So... the anxiety is real. If you want to help dispel that, you can click the kudos button, or leave a comment, truly I don't think you know how much that can turn a day around. 
> 
> This has not been betad so I am sure there are loads of mistakes. Whoops. 
> 
> As always, this is for the amazing Flames_And_Jade, originally for her birthday over a month ago. She is absolutely glorious and I adore her with all my heart. 
> 
> SnitchesAndTalkers keeps me sane and encourages my foolish ideas, way too much I think, all the while writing some of the most beautiful words I have had the pleasure of reading. Awe-inspiring I tell you. And yes, there will be more, I promise. 
> 
> Laudanum_Cafe is the Eddy to my Patsy, and keeps me laughing, always. She is vibrant and lovely and I am so fucking thankful for her. 
> 
> Thank you, as always, to everyone reading this, it means more than you could ever know. 
> 
> Aural Pleasure: 'Somewhere Only We Know' by Lily Allen

Less than twenty minutes later, all four of us were piling back into the elevator and heading back down to the ground floor. While Patrick and Pete had changed, both donning their customary head to toe black while I had touched up my hair in the bathroom. I had very little in the way of options. I had chosen, as opposed to breaking the main club protocol in jeans, to take them off and use the oversized cardigan I was wearing as a dress. However abbreviated it may have been, I kept it belted tightly around my waist and it still hung past my fingertips so technically it wasn’t ill-advised. Then again, I was going to a BDSM club, not high tea. There was a very good chance that my ensemble, however revealing it may have been, was positively prudish compared to some. Brendon, fortunately, was already in black trousers and dark shirt, so he was able to skirt by the rules fairly easily. 

The familiar sounds of Leonard Cohen tinkled on piano drifted from the speakers as the elevator made it’s easy, silent descent to the main floor before the doors slid open. The air, as always, was cool, although not uncomfortably so despite my shiver as we stepped into the hallway that was lined with office doors. The trip through the lobby was quick and quiet, Lindsey sending a beaming smile from her perch along with a wave even as she kept talking on the phone, never faltering once despite the questions that played across her pretty face. 

The main club floor was busy, although not nearly as much as it may have been on a weekend. A majority of the tables were already taken, and familiar faces abounded throughout. Mistress Claret and Jimmy were scening in a far corner, having amassed quite an audience. There was a small cluster of people milling about the bar, and I could see the bright pink hair of one of the bartenders glowing in the dim lights as he bounced about his tasks. There were couples scattered throughout the room, groups of two, three and more, some folks scening as well, and others simply deep in conversation. There was always a sense of, maybe not elegance, that hung in the air, but a certain decorum that I couldn’t quite pinpoint. It was comforting. 

Sneaking a glance at Brendon, I couldn’t help but smile at the wide-eyed and slightly shocked expression on his face. It was one that I knew I had worn. Mr. Wentz laughed aloud and tapped him on the chin to close his mouth. “You’ll catch flies if you keep that open, B. You alright?” As teasing as the words were, there was a very obvious underlying concern in them and Brendon shook himself out of his slight stupor before nodding a little too quickly. 

“Yeah, yeah, I’m okay it is just a lot. I wasn’t quite sure what to expect. This kind of isn’t it though.” There was a note of discernable awe in his voice and his dark eyes darted around the room, taking in as much as possible, almost as though everything would vanish if he looked away.

“Well, the cages and knives are generally in the private rooms. They tend to keep the floor relatively tame in comparison.” Mr. Stump’s words were delivered in such an even, casual tone that only the hint of a smile on his lips indicated that he was joking. Brendon choked. 

“Easy, I’m kidding. Sort of. If you need or want to leave at any time we ca-”

“No! No, thank you. I would like to stay, I’m just a bit nervous, I suppose.” There was the slightest quiver in Brendon’s usually calm and collected voice, and Mr. Wentz rested a hand on his shoulder. 

“Welcome to the club, Kid. Did you want a drink? It’s fully stocked.” Mr. Wentz spoke gently, gesturing his head towards the bar. 

“You know, that might be nice. Whiskey, if possible? Neat. ” His beverage choice earned a nod of appreciation from Mr. Stump. 

“The same if you don’t mind, you know what I drink.” Mr. Stump glanced at me and raised a brow. “Angel, would you like anything?”

“A Hemingway daiquiri would be lovely actually.” There was a flash of surprise in blue eyes and Mr. Stump nodded. 

“Very good choice. Mr. Wentz, if you wouldn’t mind getting the drinks, I’ll try and find us somewhere to sit, although it would seem choices are quite slim. I’m fairly certain I can see Gerard glowing in one of the corners. Do you have any objections to sharing a table?” The last question was directed at Brendon even as Mr. Wentz made his way towards the bar. 

“No, not at all although I do beg forgiveness if I babble, it is a habit of mine when I’m unsure.” Brendon was nothing if not honest and Mr. Stump laughed softly, his hand resting against my back as he began to guide me towards the table he had in his sights, Brendon following behind. 

“That seems to be something you and Charleigh have in common, there is no need to apologize, I assure you. It’s actually quite refreshing.” There was an honesty in Mr. Stump’s voice that was comforting and I saw Brendon seem to relax a bit, his back not quite so uncomfortably straight. Granted, his training was the same as mine and proper posture and carriage were automatic at this point in both of our lives, but it was as though a bit of weight had been lifted off of his shoulders. 

The table we were approaching was tucked in a far corner, a booth actually, and it was in fact occupied, although only by two people. The red hair, vibrant and piercing against the darkness, was, in fact, Gerard’s. He was seated close to Mr. Iero’s side, both of their heads bent as they spoke in low whispers, their words meant only for each other, although they both glanced up when we stopped. Bright smiles graced both of their faces, and Mr. Iero stood quickly offering his hand over the table. “Mr. Stump, Miss Gabriel, good evening.” His voice was higher than I remembered and seemingly at odds with the tattoos that covered his hands, disappearing under the cuffs of his jacket, but his eyes were kind as they wandered over the three of us. 

“Mr. Iero, Gerard, it is always a pleasure.” Mr. Stump’s voice was genuinely pleased as he returned Mr. Iero’s handshake, nodding his head to Gerard who still sat with a bright, almost blinding smile. 

“It is indeed. It has been far too long. Would you care to sit? I know this is far too big for just the two of us but options were slim when we came down. Apparently, everyone is a voyeur tonight.” There was a certain knowing smile in his voice and Mr. Iero waved an inked hand at the booth before settling back down beside Gerard. 

“Thank you, Mr. Iero, it has indeed. Mr. Wentz will be joining us shortly, once he returns from the bar. And this is Brendon Urie, a friend of Charleigh’s.” Mr. Stump smiled as he spoke, ushering me into the booth before sliding in beside me and gesturing for Brendon to follow. 

Mr. Iero smiled warmly at Brendon and gave him a wave. “Nice to meet you, Mr. Urie, and welcome. I’m so glad you could join us.” 

Brendon, always jovial, smiled warmly in response as he sat down. “Thank you so much.”

“Hi, Charleigh! It’s great to see you again.” Gerard spoke quietly and, while someone could assume that it was part of his training, that really was just Gerard. As much as he drew attention, he was honestly quite soft-spoken, although bitingly funny and whip-smart. “Mr. Urie, it’s nice to meet you. Is this your first time here?” 

The question was honest and Brendon nodded. “It’s that obvious, huh?” His response brought a round of soft laughter from everyone around the table. 

“There is a certain Deer-in-the-headlights look that almost every first timer gets when they come in. Don’t worry, we won’t write a V on your forehead or anything.” Mr. Iero spoke with an easy smile that only widened when Mr. Wentz showed up, drinks in hand. 

“Not anymore anyway.” The words were said with a bright smile and Mr. Stump just shook his head, taking both his drink and mine before Mr. Wentz settled down next to Mr. Iero, quickly exchanging pleasantries and handing Brendon’s drink over. “Mr. Iero, Gerard, always a pleasure. Thank you for letting us borrow some of your real estate. It would seem to be in high demand tonight.” 

“Not a problem at all. Besides, it keeps me out of trouble and you are some of the better company that we could have.” There was a note of annoyance in Mr. Iero’s voice but it wasn’t questioned as a waitress appeared and set drinks down in front of both he and Gerard before vanishing back into the crowd.

Mr. Wentz turned an easy smile back to Brendon. “Nah, I promise you your forehead is safe, B. And the rest of you.”

“Oddly enough, I’m not at all worried about that.” 

“That’s a dangerous thing to say around here.” A new voice piped up from behind Mr. Wentz and a familiar if long unseen face appeared with a sly smile. All the attention snapped to the newcomer, Brendon’s cheeks going bright red. 

“Mr. Weekes, what a pleasant surprise. Would you like to sit?” Mr. Iero spoke with a laugh, gesturing to the last of the free seats available at the table. 

The tall man appeared to give the invitation some thought before seemingly folding himself in half and settling into the booth and setting his glass down as bright blue eyes roamed over the other occupants. “Thank you, Mr. Iero.Good evening all..” 

Mr. Wentz, a far too bright smile on his face, glanced between Mr. Weekes and Brendon, the cogs in that head of his obviously spinning. “Brendon Urie, Mr. Dallon Weekes. Mr. Weeks, Brendon. He is a good friend of Charleigh’s we happened to run into at breakfast.”

“Mr. Urie, it is a pleasure. My apologies if I embarrassed you, it isn’t too often that I get the chance to actually utilize my ninja skills, as I’m sure you can imagine. I had to take the opportunity when I saw it.”

Brendon just smiled cheerfully, giving a shake of his head. “No harm, no foul.” 

“What ninja skills? You’re a giant, I’m not sure how exactly you can every be stealthy.” There was humor in Mr. Wentz voice and Mr. Weekes tipped his glass. 

“I’m only a giant when I’m near you all. Gerard, correct me if I am wrong, but you are the tallest one at the table, right?” There was a certain joviality to Mr. Weekes voice that seemed contagious and Gerard grinned. 

“I believe so, although I’m only five-nine, but in comparison…” Gerard’s voice trailed off and he glanced pointedly at Mr. Iero with a smile which was returned. 

“I’ll be honest, it is a bit of a novelty not being the shortest person in any given room for a change.” Mr. Stump chimed in with a fond smile, his free hand resting gently on the back of my neck and earning a round of quiet laughter. 

“A feeling I have been forever acquainted with, Sir.” My words were easy, a testament to the comforting atmosphere brought on by the people around the table. 

Mr. Weekes narrowed his eyes as he looked at me, tilting his head slightly.” I’m going to guess five-two, tops from what I recall. And it is lovely to see you back again, Miss Gabriel.” 

I nodded as I took a sip of my drink, the sweet and sour flavor a perfect indulgence after the chaos of the day. “You are exactly right, Mr. Weekes, and thank you, it has been amazing to be back.” It was as true a statement as any I could ever hope to make and I caught both Mr. Stump and Mr. Wentz smiling at the words. 

“You are not alone in that sentiment, Mr. Weekes,” Gerard spoke up with a smile, taking a sip of his seltzer and lime, pulling a smile from Mr. Iero who rested his hand on top of Gerard’s, the dark ink that was scrawled over them standing out in stark contrast to the pale, slender hands of his husband. 

“Thank you so much, it’s truly flattering.” I was thankful for the dim lighting as I felt my cheeks warm with the praise and took a long sip of my drink in an attempt to hide it. Mr. Stump, ever observant, gave the gentles squeeze to my neck; a simple reminder of his presence, and I relaxed against his touch. 

“So, tell us about Siobhan, Gentlemen, I’ve yet to meet her but I can only imagine she is adorable, especially if she takes after her mother.” Mr. Wentz’s voice was jovial, and his words honest. 

Both Mr. Iero and Gerard seemed to perk up at the mention of their daughter and the conversation, as well as the drinks, flowed easily for the rest of the few hours that we sat around the table. It was simple and real in a way that I wasn’t used to in social settings, and I hoped to experience again. The only moment of discomfort fell over the table when Elisa passed by, pausing with wide dark eyes to take in the scene before her, her gaze clearly lingering on Mr. Stump’s hand resting at the nape of my neck. 

 

There were no words exchanged simply cold stares, and she simply nodded and turned on her heel to head back into the crowd, Andy following close behind with his head down, his tattoos bright splashes of color against pale skin in the flashing lights. I caught Brendon’s thoughtful gaze as the two walked away and made a mental note to ask about it the next time I had a chance. 

Despite the momentary discomfort, Mr. Weekes was able to lighten the mood almost immediately as he picked up with a tale involving a show he had seen the night before, the chill that had settled quickly forgotten. 

It seemed that the evening was over far too quickly, although it wasn’t until we were in the elevator heading back upstairs that I realized that it was nearing one AM. As much as I should be exhausted, I was anything but and I leaned easily into Mr. Stump’s side as Brendon smiled from across the elevator. 

“Did you enjoy yourself, B?” Mr. Wentz was nearly beaming, a sparkle in his eye that I couldn’t quite place; it was as though he knew something I didn’t which, if I was honest, was most likely the case. 

“I did, very much so, thank you.” Brendon was polite as ever, although there was something slightly off about his tone; not bad in any way, just unusual. 

“Good, very good. If you’d like- ” The doors pinged open on the fifteenth floor, interrupting whatever Mr. Wentz was saying. “This is our stop. Come on, B I’ll show you where you can sleep.”

Brendon nodded good-naturedly, stepping out of the elevator. “Sounds good. Goodnight, Patrick, Charleigh. Thank you for today, it was exceptionally eye-opening.” There was a bit of a tease at the words and I shook my head, giving my friend a wave. 

“It was lovely. Goodnight, Brendon. See you in the morning.” Beside me, Mr. Stump tipped his hat with a smile as the doors were sliding up, and we finished our journey in silence, although it was only moments before the doors slid open to Patrick’s lobby. 

“After you, Angel.” The words were quiet, although spoken with a smile, and I gave a playful curtsey.

“Thank you, Sir.” The words were almost automatic as I made my way out of the elevator, my head still stuck in the headspace and protocol of just a few moments before. I was just barely in the entrance when Patrick’s hands were on my waist and spinning me around before pressing my solidly against the wall, his lips at my ear and my wrists clasped in his hands at my sides. 

“Do you have any fucking clue how hard it was not to absolutely ravish you down there? It was a goddamn chore to keep my hands to myself.” His breath, warm and whiskey-scented, tickled the hair that hung by my ear. Pressed together shoulder to thigh, I did have a little bit of an idea exactly how hard it was for him; I could feel his cock quite clearly, hard against my hip even through the layers of cotton. 

“I have a bit of an idea, yes.” My words were breathy, breaking on a gasp as Patrick rocked his hips, his teeth nipping at my earlobe before he pulled back and crashed his lips to mine. There was nothing sweet about the kiss, it was heat and fire and need, my soft whimper of surprise caught by his mouth as his tongue teased mine. 

 

Patrick’s hand released one of my wrists and his fingertips slid under the hem of the sweater that was doubling as my dress as his lips trailed down my jaw and over my neck. “Sarcasm, Angel? It looks good on you.” The hand that was on my thigh moved up just a bit higher, slower than I thought possible, and I rolled my hips, aching for something more. I did not get it. I could feel his smile against my neck and the gentle scrape of teeth and then he was gone, cold air replacing his comfortable warmth; I didn’t hide my pout. 

“Oh Angel, you are fucking adorable.” Patrick’s words were tinged with laughter and his eyes danced. “ And dangerous, so, so dangerous. But I have plans if you are alright with that?” There was not a thing in the world I could deny Patrick, or Pete for that matter, not even if I wanted to. I nodded my head, pulling my lower lip between my teeth, opening my mouth to speak just as the elevator doors slid open and Pete waltzed in, a spring in his step and grin on his face. 

“B is all settled in my apartment and said to have fun. He also has Dallon’s card, but I don’t know if I am supposed to know that.” Pete paused beside me, dipping his head and pressing a kiss to the sensitive spot just below my ear. “Did our boy tell you his plans?”

Shaking my head, my hair fell in front of my eyes, only for Pete to tuck it tenderly behind my ear. “He said he has some, but I don’t know what they are.” 

Pete grinned, bright and excited, trailing his fingers over my cheekbone before dropping his hand and looking back at Patrick who had a small gift bag in his hands. “Bedroom?” The word held more meaning that I had thought possible and Patrick simply nodded, gesturing towards the stairs. Pete didn’t waste any time, threading his fingers through mine and leading me up the stairs to the dimly lit bedroom. We were barely across the threshold when his hands fell to the belt at my waist, nimble fingers unbuckling it and tossing the leather away before they started at the buttons of my cardigan and tossing it away without a second thought. The undershirt followed without a thought and my bra after that even as he guided me physically toward the bed. My knees hit the mattress at the same time his lips met mine in a sweet kiss, his fingers fluttering over my shoulders and down my arms, lingering pointedly on the bracelet that hung around my left wrist as his lips brushed my ear. “I’m so glad he finally came to his senses.” 

The words were barely more than a whisper although apparently loud enough that Patrick, who was leaning in the doorway and loosening his tie, could hear him. “You and me both, Pete. I’m just pissed to took me so goddamn long.” There was no anger in his voice, although I could tell thoughts of Gabe floated through his head by the frown that tugged at his lips. 

“You can’t change the past,” Pete spoke with a blunt sincerity, but one that was fitting in the moment. The mood, however, was changed in the space of a heartbeat as thumbs hooked under the waistband of my panties and he fell to his knees, pulling the ridiculous lace down and off before resting his head against my belly. It was such a sweet gesture, and very at odds with the fact that I was naked, that I couldn’t help but smile and run my fingers through his hair. His eyes fell shut at the gentle motion and I felt him sigh. “Heavenly. Lay down for me, Sweetheart.”

My gaze darted to Patrick, who had left the doorway and dropped his hat and tie on the bureau, and was toeing off his shoes. “You don’t have to ask, Angel.” He spoke with a smile as he unbuttoned his shirt and shrugged out of it. 

I didn’t need to be told twice and I stretched out on the luxurious bed, smiling as I rested my head on the pillows that smelled like Pete and Patrick. 

Pete crawled up beside me, surprisingly graceful, his feet bare and stretched out along my side, his fingers pulling the pins he could reach from my hair with a practiced ease. I lifted my head to give him easier access and was gifted with a laugh from Patrick as he settled on the edge of the bed at my other side, one hand playing along my bracelet as he held up the small bag with two fingers of his other. 

 

“Got you a little present, Angel. “ There was a smile in Patrick’s voice and I couldn’t help but return it as I sat up, shaking my hair back behind my shoulders. 

“You should open it.” Pete was still laying beside me, his smile bright. I glanced at him and nodded, taking the bag from Patrick who was watching me intently. The weight was familiar and I pulled the tissue paper out quickly before fishing out the box that was inside and flipping the lid off. The plug inside was beautiful, solid glass with a teal rose blown inside the base. 

“Flowers tend to die. As cheesy as it is, we kind of wanted you to have a rose that wouldn’t actually make you miserable.” There was an almost bashfulness to Patrick’s tone again, one that I had only heard twice before; it was beyond endearing and leaned over, brushing a kiss against his cheek. 

“Thank you, it is beautiful. Can we try it? Unless that interferes with your plans. I can wait.” 

The grin that split Patrick’s face was accompanied by a laugh and he shook his head. “No interference, Angel, and yes, we absolutely can. Pete, can you get the- well shit, you are prepared, aren’t you?” Pete just beamed, holding up the small blue bottle of slick.

“What can I say? I was a boy scout.” 

The reply was easy and earned a laugh from Patrick. “Oh Bullshit, you got kicked out. You are still my Good Boy though.” There was a fondness in his voice that was solely for Pete, and it made me almost giddy to see the tenderness between the two men. Pete preened at the praise, nodding eagerly. 

“Goddamn right I am, always will be too.” There was nothing but affection in the words and I felt warm at the exchange, suddenly hyper-aware of the bracelet on my own wrist as Pete spun his own. 

“You will.” Patrick’s tone was gentle, and his gaze shifted from Pete back to me, blue eyes bright even in the dim. “And you. You, Good Girl, are fucking delectable.” He moved quickly, settling with a knee on either side of my hips as his lips returned to my neck. “And I have every fucking intention of tasting you.” The words were mumbled against my skin between teases of tongue and teeth as Patrick shifted, his mouth slipping down over my collarbone. I shiver, although whether it was more due to the words or the promise I didn’t quite know. 

Pete grinned beside me, yanking on the knot on his tie. “Cold, Sweetheart?” There was a tease in his voice and a twinkle in his eyes as he slid the silk from his collar, while Patrick’s lips closed around my nipple and his tongue teased the already hardened peak, pulling a moan from my throat. I could feel his smile as I stuttered on my words, arching my back up into Patrick’s mouth, aching for more of the warm heat. 

“Not exactly, no.” 

“Good. Hands up for me, please?” The question caught me off guard, although I was far more focused on Patrick at the moment as he pulled away with an obscene pop, winking at me before lavishing the same attention on my other breast. 

I nodded and raised my arms above my head, crossing my wrists, and resting them against the headboard. Pete smiled, leaning closer to press a kiss against my jaw as I felt the cool silk of his tie against my wrists. “Is this okay?” 

Words didn’t seem to actually form in my mind, disintegrating to nothing but whimpers as Patrick moved again, shifting to press his knee against mine as his fingers teased at my thighs, lightly pushing them apart as he settled between them. Patrick’s mouth slipped over my heated skin, lips and tongue alternating with teeth as they trailed lower, leaving tiny red splotches in their wake. His hair was almost copper against my skin in the low lights, and his tongue teased around my belly button. “Y-yes.” The words finally formed on a gasp as Patrick slid his fingers of the tender skin on the inside of my thigh. 

I could see the intensity in Pete’s eyes at the single word, and he dipped his head lower, catching mine in another sweet kiss. “Thank you, Sweetheart.” He was gone in an instant, wrapping his tie securely but not tightly around my wrists and sliding a finger between the silk and my skin to test the give before knotting it through the slats of the headboard. “That okay?” There was a seriousness in Pete’s tone that I only noted when he was talking about his work and I nodded, giving the slightest of tugs against the binding. It was tight, but I could slip out easily if I needed to. 

Opening my mouth to speak, my words were lost in a moan as Patrick nipped at my inner, his tongue quick to soothe the affected area even as he settled into the bed, and lifted his head, his eyes wide and innocent even as his fingers splayed over my hips with the slightest pressure. 

“Feel good, Angel?” Patrick’s words were tinged dark with desire and need, and his breath was hot against the wetness that was already building between my legs. I had to fight not to buck my hips up against his hands as Pete chuckled beside me, tugging his shirts off and settling against the headboard. 

“I think that was a yes, Trick.” 

“I think you are right, Pete.” The smile on Patrick’s face made him look both innocent and absolutely devilish at the same time. The gleam in his eye, however, tilted the scales in favor of devilish just before he dropped his head again and trailed the tip of his tongue down along my hip. 

“Feels amazing.” There was not the slightest bit of exaggeration to my words and I felt Pete Chuckle against my neck as he dropped another soft kiss.

“Just wait, Sweetheart.” 

I didn’t have to ask for what, I was far from a fool, but the possibilities swam in my head, anticipation sending me reeling as I wriggled beneath Patrick’s hands, aching for more, now, please. He teased expertly, hot breath as the delicate slide of fingers close, so close, to where I wanted until I was panting, fighting back the urge to beg. 

“What is it, Angel?” The words dripped innocence and were accompanied by a flick of Patrick’s tongue at the juncture of my hip and thigh, earning a strangled whimper. 

“You’re a tease, Patrick.” I almost whined the words, and it took everything in me not to actually pout as I pushed my hips against the firm grip that held my hips down. There would be bruises of that I had no doubt, and I almost longed to see them as they formed, impressions of fingerprints in dark shades of purple and red blooming against my pale skin. It was becoming a bit of a fixation of mine and I did not regret that for an instant.

 

“Oh Angel, didn’t you know? It’s only a tease if you don’t follow through.” Patrick spoke with a smile, sly and filled with the promise of more than I could fathom, as his fingers teased lightly over the sparse curls between my legs. “And I always follow through.” 

I shivered, rolling my hips up as much as I could and biting back a near whine of frustration. Pete, ever jovial, laughed beside me and ran a hand through my hair. “Believe me, Sweetheart, it’ll be worth the wait.”

“I would never doubt that.” My voice was breathy with anticipation and desire as I watched Patrick, my gaze not faltering from his eyes as they held mine, and my hands twitched against the tie that bound my hands. 

“Good Girl.” The praise was just barely loud enough for me to hear it before Patrick dropped his head, his breath hot and teasing for the briefest of moments before his hands shifted, thumbs purposefully brushing exactly where I wanted them, only to slip away. I whimpered and turned my head to look up at Pete. 

“Just a second, Sweetheart, patience is a virtue, Believe me, it will be so goddamn-”

Whatever Pete said was lost in a haze of sensation as Patrick’s tongue flicks over my clit, soft and precise, time and again until I am writhing beneath him, his grip on my hips gone. Words are replaced with wanton moans as Patrick licked and teased, alternating the waves of bliss with tiny, sharp nips against my thighs. The tiny sparks of pain both offset and intensified the pleasure as his tongue circled and lapped against me. 

I trembled with every new movement and gasped when his pace changed, the soft sounds escalating to cries as I tugged against the tie holding my hands tight to the headboard, itching to bury my fingers in Patrick’s hair, to pull him closer and hold him there, exactly where I needed him.

“I know, Sweetheart, his fucking mouth. I swear to god, some of the things he does should be illegal.” Pete had stretched out beside me again, and his lips were brushing my ear as he spoke, his fingers flitting along my ribs, over my breasts, down my arm. He seemed everywhere at once, and each touch left a spark of desire in its wake. “Let go, Sweetheart, you’re holding back. Let me hear you.” The words were low in my ear, almost a groan, and uttered at the same time that Patrick closed his lips around my clit and sucked, hard. I was done for. 

Pulling uselessly against the silk that was tight around my wrists, I slammed my eyes closed and bucked my hips up against Patrick’s mouth as wave after wave of pleasure crashed over me, my scream echoing in my ears as I trembled and finally went limp against the bed. Patrick didn’t stop, but rather switched techniques, slowing down until his tongue was barely moving and I was a quivering mess beneath him, gasping for breath. 

“Perfect.” Pete was quiet, his fingers carding through my hair and his lips against my temple, but I could hear the sweetness in his voice as I swallowed thickly, my throat dry and forced my eyes open to look dazedly down at Patrick.

He had finally pulled his mouth away, resting his head on my thigh and glancing up at me through a mess of bangs, all innocence and light. His lips were shiny in the lights and wet when he placed a kiss on my thigh before straightening up and catching my lips in a kiss, leaving them sticky as he sat back with a grin.   
“I knew you’d be worth the wait, Angel.” Patrick’s voice was just slightly husky and I pulled against the tie, aching to touch. 

“Thank you.” It sounded so ridiculous but my post-orgasm haze was heavy and it was the only thing that I could manage to stutter out as I finally started to calm my breathing. 

He chuckled, tilting his chin towards my hands. “You are very welcome, Charleigh. Believe me when I say the pleasure was mine.”

I did believe him, and I would have even if I hadn’t seen the very noticeable outline of his cock through his trousers. Pete scrambled over me and turned Patrick’s head to meet his lips in a hungry kiss. I could see flashes of tongue from where I lay bound, and watched as Patrick’s hands skillfully unbuckled Pete’s belt and pulled the leather from the loops before sending it clattering to the floor before popping the button open. One hand disappeared beneath his waistband and Pete keened. “Jesus fucking Christ, Patrick.”

I could hear his laugh, low and confident, as Patrick tugged his own shirt off with one hand, throwing it aside and giving Pete’s pants a tug down over his hips. “Off, now.” There was no request in the words, but they were not anywhere near gentle, and Pete’s smile was radiant as he stood and pushed his slacks and boxers to his feet, kicking them away. He was beautiful, all honey skin and dark, swirling ink, his prick curving up towards his toned stomach. I needed to touch. 

Patrick chuckled as I tugged against the tie again, clicking his tongue as he leaned over me to loosen the knots, pausing to meet my eyes as his fingers brushed over the bracelet that he had locked there the night before. “You are amazing, Charleigh.” There was such a tenderness in his voice as skilled fingers deftly untied the knots of the silk that held me still that I swore I felt my heart skip a beat. 

“I’m just me.” It was true, and I stood by the words, even as Patrick shook his head. 

“You are not just anything, Angel, I assure you that, and I have every intention of showing you exactly that tonight.” As he spoke, he pulled the tie free and gently took my wrists in his hands, smiling as he dropped a kiss on the tip of my nose before straightening up to look at my wrists. They didn’t hurt and, judging by the expression on Patrick’s face there were no marks which was almost disappointing, although unsurprising. 

I could feel the mattress shifting as Pete returned to his place on my other side, his back against the headboard and his hand wrapped around his cock. “Look at him, Angel. “ Patrick’s voice was low in my ear, and I could hear the smile in his words. There was no way I couldn’t, even if I wanted to and I turned my head to look up at Pete, meeting his gaze. He was almost painfully beautiful, and his expression was open, although there was something vulnerable in his eyes that I couldn’t put my finger on. Patrick let go of my wrists, and I moved my arms, my shoulders aching in the most pleasant way as I let them fall to my sides. “He wants you more than I have seen him want anyone before.” His voice was a whisper, for my ears only, and Patrick brushed my hair back from my eyes, his tongue teasing my earlobe before he pulled away. “Do you want him, Angel?” The words were almost sung, teasing and light, although the meaning behind them was anything but. Forcing my gaze from Pete, I looked up into Patrick’s blue eyes and bobbed my head in a nod, my voice cracking at the single word. 

“Yes.” I could hear Pete pull in a sharp breath as Patrick grinned, somehow sweet and dirty at the same time. 

“Good.”


	41. Chapter Forty One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Patrick is filthy and Pete gets what he wants.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well. This happened. The nerves on this one are through the damn roof so please excuse the lack of my usual snark. 
> 
> Kudos, comments, and questions make all the difference in the world, seriously. I can't even explain how amazing it is to know that people are actively engaging in this story. 
> 
> Not betaed, full of mistakes. The usual. 
> 
> This ridiculous mess is for Flames_And_Jade whom I absolutely adore. 
> 
> Much thanks and endless baked goods and fangirling to SnitchesANdTalkers for not only her support but putting up with my ridiculous. I am pretty sure she is magic. 
> 
> Laudanum_Cafe makes me laugh like no other, even when I am flailing, and I am forever thankful to her for that. Thank you, Sweetie Darling. 
> 
> Thank you endlessly to everyone who takes the time from their day to read this tale, it means more than words can say.

There was a moment of silence, heavy and familiar, comfortable in a way that it had never felt before. Pete’s fingers were sliding along my ribs and I could feel his breath, warm and sweet against my neck while Patrick’s eyes shifted between him and me. 

“Did you want your present, Angel?” The words were almost a tease and Patrick held up the plug, twisting it between his fingers so the glass twinkled in the lights. 

“Pete?” I couldn’t roll over to look at him, not with his warm body pressed tightly against my back, but he nodded and I could feel his smile against my ear. 

“Jesus. Yes, Sweetheart.” There was a rasp in Pete’s voice, yearning and needy, as his hand rested on my hip, fingers pressing against the already tender marks that Patrick had left and sending a shiver through me. 

“I thought so. On your stomach for me. Pete, can you get me the lube?” Patrick’s tone was even, but I could see his smile as I rolled to lay face down on the bed, resting my head on my folded arms and turning to look at Pete as he reached for the drawer by the bedside table for the bottle of lube and smoothly handing it to Patrick before stretching back out beside me and carding his fingers through my hair. 

Patrick stood and I heard his zipper before Pete groaned, his eyes dark. “Fucking Christ, Trick. How exactly did you manage that without my noticing?” 

I could hear laughter, warm and rich as the bed dipped and Patrick returned, fingers skimming along my back. “If I gave away all my secrets, what fun would that be?” Thoroughly confused, I glanced up to meet Pete’s gaze and saw him smile, pointing towards Patrick. 

“See for yourself, Sweetheart.” 

Squirming to glance over my shoulder, I heard Patrick cluck his tongue. “Not yet, Angel, after. Look back at Pete. “ I didn’t bother with an argument, it was wholly unnecessary, as Pete met my lips in a searing kiss as soon as my head was turned. All tongue and teeth and heat, Pete kissed like he meant it, always, and his hands tightened in my hair as Patrick’s lips trailed down my spine. 

I could feel his smile as his lips stopped at the dip just above my ass and he shifted back, settling between my parted legs as he hands rested on my ass to spread my cheeks. I could feel his warm breath tickling against my hole and gasped at the unfamiliar sensation, squirming as the sound was lost against Pete’s lips. 

“Is this okay, Angel?” Patrick’s words were quiet but honest and I nodded, pulling away from Pete for a moment, my chest heaving as I met honey brown eyes.

“Yes.” Where the answer came from I did not know, but I meant it, I always did. There was an element of honesty when I was with Patrick, perhaps born of the innate trust that came from our relationship and how it had begun. There was a chuckle and the scraping of teeth teasingly over the curve of my ass before I felt his tongue, warm, wet and new, feathering over my hole. It was the most unusual feeling, and one I could have never even imagined, but it felt so so good and I whimpered under Pete’s gaze. 

“Feels like heaven, doesn’t it? I’m telling you the things he can do with that mouth should probably be fucking illegal.” There was a note of awe in Pete’s voice and I could almost tell what he was thinking by the faraway look in his eyes. “And he looks so pretty, that angelic fucking face against your ass. I wish you could see him, Sweetheart.” 

Patrick was focused, as always, his tongue teasing and pressing against my hole, slick with saliva but never actually breaching past the pucker, hands tight on my hips.

“Just wait, I promise it is going to be so good.” Pete’s words were low and he peppered tiny, sweet kisses along my neck as he spoke. I didn’t doubt him, I never had, but when Patrick’s tongue pushed firmly, just barely breaching the tight ring of muscle, I cried out and arched my back pressing into the delicious sensation. A single finger, slick with lube soon joined Patrick’s tongue and I relaxed into his touch, focused and skilled as he easily worked me open. 

I didn’t hide my whimper when Patrick pulled away and Pete laughed, dropping a kiss to my temple. “I know, it is always a bit of a loss, trust me though, it will get better.” 

“You okay, Angel?” Patrick’s voice was gentle and far too far away for my liking, although the familiar click of the lube cap seemed louder than imaginable. 

“I’m more than okay.” The words elicited a laugh from both Pete and Patrick, and there was a last tease of hot breath and a brush of a warm tongue over my hole before it was replaced with the smooth pressure of the glass plug, liberally covered in slick. It was a constant, slow pressure, and the tight ring of muscle stretched with the just faintest twinge of pain as Patrick pushed forward past the widest point of the base and nestled the plug securely in my ass. 

“So fucking pretty.” Patrick’s words were accompanied by the slight push of the plug before his fingers twisted it just slightly leaving me shaking. “Pete, come see our girl.” The endearment, almost offhand, had me gasping more than the actual twirling of the glass toy in my ass and I felt the same thrill that I had the first time I’d heard Patrick utter ‘Good Girl” in his melodic voice. Pete didn’t miss my reaction and smiled, brushing a gentle kiss to my lips. 

“I can’t possibly say no to that.” He was gone in a flash, the bed by my knees dipping as he knelt beside Patrick. “Jesus Christ.” There was appreciation evident in Pete’s voice, even as the words broke, no doubt thanks to something Patrick was doing. I squirmed, twisting to look behind me even as Pete’s fingers drifted down my crack, pressing on my plug before slipping lower to tease through the wetness that was between my legs. “You are so fucking responsive, Sweetheart.” The touch was gone just as I pressed back into it and I could hear Patrick’s muffled moan, no doubt around Pete’s fingers. “Roll over?” It was a question, although there was no way I wouldn’t and I twisted to stretch out on my back, my breath catching at the scene before me. 

Pete was on his knees across from a kneeling Patrick, two fingers slipped between obscenely pink lips as Patrick sucked on them, one hand wrapped around Pete’s cock and jerking it slowly, a perfect pairing of creamy pale and honey inked skin. It almost took me a moment to notice the flash of color, bright teal, over Patrick’s hip and a forgotten remark drifted back to my mind. I whimpered at the press of the plug as I situated myself in front of the two men, carefully trailing my fingers over the delicate silk panties. My fingers teased at the edge of the soft lace trim as I followed the material down along Patrick’s prick, hard where it was tucked inside the gorgeous lingerie. The color was not lost on me, the same teal as my gown at the wedding in Chicago, as well as the glass rose in the plug that was nestled between my asscheeks. 

“Fuck.” It was the only thing I could manage, my brain addled with desire and need. Patrick grinned around Pete’s fingers, pulling back so the digits slipped from his lips with an audible, wet pop and groaned, his hips bucking into my light touch. 

“Told you, Sweetheart.” Pete almost sounded smug as he stroked his fingers over Patrick’s cheek. “Beautiful, isn’t he?” 

“Fuck you, Pete.” Patrick’s cheeks were flushed pink and there was no venom in his tone as he turned his head to kiss Patrick’s palm. 

“Maybe later, Baby.” The endearment was adorable and it was easy to get lost in the affection between the two despite hands on cocks and pressing hips. 

“I’m going to hold you to that, Peter. But first, I think Charleigh deserves some more attention.” Blue eyes, dark with desire, turned on me and I licked my lips, my hand stilling to just press against Patrick’s prick, hot beneath exquisite silk and lace. “What do you say, Angel?” There was a slight hitch in Patrick’s voice as I gently slipped my fingertips under the hem of the panties, teasing against his cock, hard and smooth as it twitched under my touch. 

“Yes, always yes.” My voice was husky with anticipation and desire as Pete moaned, Patrick’s hand dropping away from his prick. 

“That’s my Good Girl.” Patrick brushed a hand over Pete’s cheek and then mine, tilting his chin towards the head of the bed as he pulled back and sat down, his back against the footboard and crossing his legs. “I’m just going to watch for now.” Even in the dark, I could see the smile on his face before I caught Pete’s gaze. 

“Charleigh.” My name was a whisper, almost reverent in the chilled air of the bedroom, and I licked my lips with the slightest of nods before Pete’s mouth was on mine. The kiss was not as heated as before, but carried with it more passion and need with a promise of something more, a longing as hands tangled in my hair and a warm, hard body guided me backward. 

Pete was gentle, so gentle, as he lay me down, sitting back on his heels between my legs and just looking at me, his gaze more intense than I had ever seen it. He looked at me like I was art; beautiful, cherished and forever. There was so much in his eyes, I couldn’t begin to comprehend what may have been swirling in their whiskey depths so I just reached out with one hand, twining my fingers with his and pulling ever so lightly. “Please?” The word was a whisper born of need and emotion, and Pete nodded, the smallest of smiles on his lips as he leaned forward, grasping my hips and pulling slightly, strong hands guiding my legs around his waist. 

The head of Pete’s cock brushed against my already sensitive clit as he grasped his cock, lining up to pause for just a moment until I nodded. He pushed forward with a single, hard thrust, catching my cry with his lips as they met mine, his hands on either side of my head. Crossing my ankles behind Pete’s back, I rolled my hips up, his moan mixing with mine on a shared breath as I arched up, pressing as close to him as possible. 

Every thrust was bliss, Pete’s hips sharp and his movements precise as his mouth fell to my neck, wet and hot as he muttered pretty, filthy words against my skin. My nails scratched along his back, smooth and slick with sweat as we moved together, my hips meeting his as much as they could under his solid, warm weight. I ached for him, and as I felt that familiar heat swirling in my belly, I tightened my legs and dragged him in tight. “Harder Pete, I want, I need- please-” The words were broken pleas, sobbed against the warmth of his neck as he pushed me closer and closer to that edge. 

“Fucking perfect, Sweetheart. I can’t fucking wait to feel you.” How he was even speaking I didn’t know, my own capacity for speech long gone, having given way to a chorus of cries and moans, punctuated by gasps for breaths. Pete’s hand slipped down my torso, gliding along the slick sheen of sweat that had formed, and his fingers, clever and strong, circled my clit in time with the thrusting of his hips. “Come for me, Sweetheart, let me.” 

As always, it was the words that finally sent me over the edge and my vision went white as I dropped my head back in a wordless wail, release coursing through me like fire in my veins, leaving me burnt and shaking in their wake. 

Pete’s lips stayed at my ear, whispering sweet words mixed with obscene curses as he thrust his hips hard once, twice, three more times before coming with a groan, his head falling against my neck even as he wrapped me in strong, familiar arms. It was intoxicating, being surrounded by him completely and I trembled as my head began to clear, turning my head to meet his mouth. Tiny kisses, tender almost to the point of chasteness, were interspersed with gasps for breath as we both started to come down, limbs heavy as we melted into the soft mattress. 

It wasn’t until I felt Pete tense and let out a small moan that I finally forced my eyes open even as his cock slipped out of me; there was a momentary feeling of loss that was quickly swept away as dimly made out Patrick’s pale form behind Pete, coaxing his hips up and drawing him up onto his hands and knees. My lust-addled brain didn’t quite make the connections immediately. It wasn’t until Pete moaned and rocked backward that I realized what was happening. The click-snap of the lube bottle was loud between pants for breath and I could barely make out the look of concentration on Patrick’s face as Pete groaned, His eyes fluttering open. 

“Fucking Christ, Patrick, you’re gonna kill me.” Pete’s voice was broke as Patrick grinned, and I saw his arm move as his blue eyes met mine. 

“I haven’t killed you yet, I won’t now.” There was nothing but affection in Patrick’s voice as he worked, his fingers no doubt deep in Pete’s ass. I could tell each time he brushed his prostate; Pete mewled and pushed back sharply against Patrick with a litany of curses each time. 

“Stop fucking teasing and fuck me, Patrick.” The words were pushed through gritted teeth and I could see Patrick’s smile over Pete’s shoulder from where I was laying, bright and filled with not only care but want as well. He didn’t reply, but I heard the lube cap open and close before a pale hand grasped against a tawny hip and twin groans rang out through the air. 

The expression on Pete’s face was beyond anything I could even imagine, ecstasy, need, pain and love flashing across his features in equal measure as he held his breath, only exhaling when Patrick groaned and stilled, his eyes closed. 

Both hands now resting on Pete’s hips, Patrick began to rock slowly, almost leisurely at first, although that was quickly abandoned as Pete pushed back the movements, meeting the hard thrusts eagerly. It was beautiful to watch from this angle, and I could see, even from where I lay, the moment when the thin bit of control Patrick retained over his composure snapped and his movements, always so focused, started to slip, pleasure overtaking him as he fucked Pete almost desperately, his last thrusts erratic before he groaned, the sound somehow musical, and came panting and gloriously undone before collapsing to the bed, tugging Pete with him to lay between us as he fought to even his breathing. 

Patrick’s color was high and he looked debauched and beautiful as he buried his face against Pete’s neck with a whimper, earning a quiet laugh. 

“That good, huh?” There was humor in Pete’s words, but nothing but affection in his tone and I saw Patrick’s head nod just slightly as his hand slipped over Pete’s hip to brush against mine without a word. 

“Hush, let me fucking cuddle for a minute before you get mouthy.” Patrick sounded just slightly grumpy, although I knew it didn’t mean that he was, and the smile I could barely see guaranteed that. 

“I won’t argue, Trick, not now anyway.” Pete’s grin was bright as he leaned forward and met my lips in a kiss. “I have some plans of my own.” There was a familiar mischief in Pete’s tone and Patrick just sighed, shaking his head. 

“Of course you do.” His tone was resigned but sweet, and just the slightest bit husky from exertion. “Are you going to share them with the class or do we have to guess?”

“Stick with me, Trick, I promise you won’t regret it.” Not an answer, per se, but as close to one as Patrick was going to get. It seemed to placate him for the moment and, inquiry seemingly forgotten, he nuzzled back against the crook of Pete’s neck as inked arms tugged me closer in a sweet embrace, our legs twining together in a mess as we lay and simply basked in the afterglow, safe and sated. 

Pete’s plans, as it turned out, involved an exceedingly luxurious bubble bath, the water in the tub perfectly hot even as it soothed away any lingering aches. The conversation was easy and quiet, light in that sleepy way that only sex could cause. I was nestled between Patrick’s legs, my back against his chest and my feet tucked against Pete’s side at the opposite end of the tub and his fingers trailed over my calf, lazy beneath the bubbles. Outside the window, Las Vegas skyline twinkling against the velvet darkness of the sky.

“Did you enjoy yourself, Angel?” Patrick’s words were whispered against the top of my head and I nodded, my eyes closed as I basked in the warmth of not only the water but the strong arms wrapped around my waist. 

“I did, thank you. I never imagined that sex could even remotely be like that.” The words came without my thinking, my brain still a bit a bit fuzzy from earlier exertions. 

“Funny thing about that, Sweetheart, when you’re with someone you love, the sex reflects that.” I could hear Pete’s smile, I didn’t even need to open my eyes, and I gave one of my own, feeling Patrick’s against my head. My heart skipped just slightly at the words and I dropped my head, opening my eyes to gaze at the mounds of fluffy, softly scented bubbles. 

“Penny for your thoughts, Angel?” There was concern in Patrick’s voice and he shifted just slightly to tilt my chin up and meet my gaze. 

“Not even worth that much, I promise.” There was a slight sting behind my eyes and I struggled to rationalize it using the events of the day. I could lie to myself almost convincingly, but it would seem that it was a thin facade. 

“Sweetheart?” Pete’s tone matched Patrick’s and I shook my head slightly, a bit of hair slipping loose from my messy bun to fall in my face. 

“I’m just- emotional, I guess?” My voice cracked and I blinked back tears, silently cursing myself as old, long dormant doubts began to tease at the edges of my mind. 

“Charleigh you don’t- You know that I wasn’t just talking about Patrick, right?” His voice was gentle as Pete leaned forward to tuck two fingers under my chin and lift my head up, meeting my eyes. “Oh, Sweetheart.” The sincerity in Pete’s tone was obvious and he shifted, ignoring the water sloshing over the sides of the tub to take my face in his hands, his eyes darting to no doubt meet Patrick’s for the slightest moment. “You don’t know.” 

Patrick’s arms tightened around my waist and he pressed a tender kiss against my head. “Charleigh?” There was more in his voice than I had ever heard, heavy and thick with unspoken emotion and I turned as best as I could to look at him over my shoulder. His eyes were clear and bright, soft in a way I had never seen before but there was a flash of something more in their depths as his tongue darted out to wet his lips. “Angel, I love you.”


	42. Chapter Forty Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another brief interlude, nothing too intense but a peek at what the elder Gabriel's have been up to

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a quick glimpse into Charleigh's world and what is happening there. 
> 
> Comments and kudos literally make a difference, Y'all, truly. You never know the difference that a few kind words can make for authors and artists. 
> 
> Not betad. I know.
> 
> For the illustrious Flames_And_Jade. I adore you, dear lady. You deserve all of the happiness. 
> 
> SnitchesAndTalkers you have been so ridiculously supportive and listened to my endless babble far more than any one person should. Thank you for that. If I could send you van days Patrick in a time machine, I would in a heartbeat. 
> 
> Laudanum_Cafe, Sweetie darling, you make me laugh so much I cry. Your support and excitement never fail to amaze me. Thank you. 
> 
> Thank you so very much to everyone who takes the time to read this, I know how precious time in your life is and I am endlessly thankful that you are willing to share even a little of that with me. 
> 
> Aural Satisfaction: "Broken Crown" by Mumford & Sons and you should give "To Build A Home" by The Cinematic Orchestra a listen as well because I forgot it last chapter.

Fifty-four calls in less than twelve hours. That was more than four calls an hour, especially if you factored in sleeping, although I didn’t because I hadn’t done that, not yet anyway. I was absolutely exhausted, mentally and physically, and I knew that answering the phone would only add to that. Then again, maybe that wouldn’t be a bad thing. I had to give my parents credit, either they were attempting to get around my recognizing the number by phone hopping, or it really wasn’t just them calling. Odds were slim to nil on that though. My father had enough staffers from all over the place that the calls from Orem, Utah and Jackson, Mississippi were not exactly a surprise. People, especially those that were of a conservative viewpoint, loved my father. I did too, but I despised his politics, and I had since I was old enough to understand what he stood for. 

This entire election had been an absolute disaster and when the results had started to come in, I’d switched off not only the television but my laptop as well and essentially shut myself in my spare room with the music just this side of too loud and notebooks filled with steps and combinations as I worked out a new showcase routine. It was a complicated piece but I knew that if anyone could handle it, it was Brendon and Hayley. I hoped, anyway. Well, I knew he could but it would be a challenge for Hayley. She was good, technically amazing, but she tended to lean on her partners more than she should. Hopefully, if I played my cards right on this one, she could get past that. By the time I was finished I was damp with sweat and my muscles ached in the way that only dancing or a particularly intense session with Mr. Stump could bring about. The sun had long since risen over the city, although it was hidden behind heavy, green-grey clouds that threatened to break open at any time. I nearly hobbled to the living room, ducking in the kitchen for a bottle of water before flopping down, the opposite of gracefully, on the couch. My hair, sticky and messy, fell in front of my eyes and I glared at the short strands as though that would help anything before turning my attention to the ridiculous number of missed calls my phone displayed. After the fifteenth voicemail, they had stopped leaving them, and I thanked whoever happened to be looking down for that. It was a small mercy at this point in time. 

Clicking through the playlists on my phone, I finally turned off the delicate guitar and piano melody that had been on repeat for the last however many hours and switched it over to something a bit heavier, pounding drums, and wailing guitars setting off plaintive vocals. Again, probably far louder than I should be listening but I had yet to receive any noise complaints. So there was that. The device in my hand lit up with yet another call, this time from Dallas, Texas and it took everything in me not to throw it against the wall. I did, however, ignore it and instead turned my attention to my feet. 

The satin was scuffed and worn thin in places; ribbons frayed and the layers of glue starting to soften on the tips of the toes with wear. There were the slightest hints of red against the pale pink, literally bleeding through from the inside. Picking carefully at the tiny knots, I untie first the left then the right, always in that order, before sliding both elastic and satin to the floor with a soft thud. The overly cool air pumping from overhead stung on the raw, bleeding skin of my toes and frowned as I wiggled them. The pain was manageable, it always was, and they looked worse than they really were. That was the only thing about not actually performing anymore, except for rare occasions; getting back up could, quite literally, be a pain. It was a good one though, despite how it looked. As much as I would love to properly tend to my feet, they could wait, my parents, however, could not, or they shouldn’t. I knew, somewhere in the back of my mind, that the longer I put them off, the worse it would be. Steeling my spine, I let my gaze wander to the few bottles that sat on the small bar before deciding against it, Really, it wasn’t worth it to drink at this hour, even if it was my parents. 

Scrolling through my contacts, I let my finger hover over my mother’s name for just a moment before hitting call, still doubting my decision. It was too late to change my mind when my mother’s voice, dripping with honey and false sincerity, came over the line after just one ring. “It’s about time, Charleigh. You know we have been trying to get in touch with you for hours.” The condemnation was heavy in her tone and I felt just a twinge of guilt, only for a moment, before it flittered away and I took a moment to compose myself.

“I know, mother, and as much as I would like to say I’m sorry, well, I’m not. I’m assuming the barrage of calls means that Father won the election?”

“The sass is uncalled for, young lady. And yes, he did win. You could show a little familial pride, you know. We had been hoping that you would come back for the election. People were asking about you.” I couldn’t help but roll my eyes at the admonishment, although it was far from unexpected.

“ Mother, I told you in Chicago that I wouldn’t be back for the election. It had nothing to do with me and anyone who would be asking about me on election night is either the press or someone that I obviously don’t want to talk to.” I could hear the tension in the silence on the other end of the line and had no doubt that my mother was clenching her jaw and adjusting her ever-present pearls. It was a tell of hers for as long as I could remember and one of the only ways to know she was upset. Attorneys could be amazing actors when it was needed. The saccharine sweetness was gone from her voice when she spoke again, any traces of the Georgia lilt vanishing and, instead, there was a hardened edge to her words and a distinguishable Boston accent. She was absolutely livid.

“Charleigh James Gabriel, that is enough of that disrespect. You better be happy your father is out of the room. You would think I was asking you to cut off a limb. Is it too much to ask for you to show a little bit of pride in this family? Your father has worked very hard for this. There are people, important people, that want to speak to you. A little excitement wouldn’t kill you.” The speech, a variation of one I had heard many times since leaving Boston, should not have affected me the way that it did. On a normal day, the words would have rolled off my back with ease. Today, however, was not a normal day. I’d been awake for over thirty-six hours, I was sore, cranky and my coffee had long since run out, along with my patience.

“Mother, I’m thrilled that Father isn’t there, honestly because he and those other important people that you seem so intent on reminding me of, would not particularly enjoy what I have to say, and you won’t either. But, quite frankly, I’m exhausted and holding my tongue is the least of my concerns right now. I’m not proud, not at all, in fact, I am sorry and ashamed at the results of this election. I think Father’s politics are bullshit and I am beyond shocked that he won. I think that there were huge mistakes made, not only on the state level but the national one as well and I’m fucking terrified of what the next four years are going to bring. I’m so goddamn sorry you can’t see that, Mother.” The words poured out before I could stop them, fueled by exhaustion, frustration and literal years of holding back. The silence on the other end of the line was stony and I swear I could hear it shatter when my mother finally spoke again. 

“That is entirely uncalled for, Charleigh, and you know it. I won’t be repeating your little tirade to your father but I highly suggest you get your act together before you come out here again. He would be so upset to hear this, especially when he should be celebrating with his family.” Rolling my eyes, I quite literally bit back a reply, pulling my bottom lip between my teeth until I could taste blood, salty and coppery thick.

“Mother, coming out there is the last thing on my mind. I’m sorry that my voicing my opinion upsets you so much, but I highly suggest that you get your shit together. I’m not a child anymore and I am, although it may be hard to believe, entitled to my own thoughts, no matter how much that may bother you. I refuse to celebrate right now, and I won’t pretend to do so, not for you or for the cameras. I’m sorry, Mother, but there are far better uses of my time than continuing that charade.” There was nothing but silence from the other end of the phone, almost deafening in its intensity, and I actually checked the screen to make sure that the call hadn’t dropped. It had not. Whether that was a good thing or not, I didn’t know, although the tone of my mother’s voice when she finally spoke again, said more than the words that she almost struggled to get out. There was a resignation in her tone that I had never heard before, not even in the midst of my father’s affairs; she sounded defeated. 

“Fine, Charleigh. Just remember that your father and I love you.” There was nothing that I could say to that because the call disconnected and I was left staring at the phone in shock. My mother was a proud woman, to say the very least, and appearances were everything to her. As much as I knew she was hurt, I couldn’t bring myself to be sorry for what I said, not in the slightest. Perhaps the way I had gone about it, but certainly not the words themselves. Clearing the screen of my phone, I shook my head, tucking a stray strand of hair behind my ear, and quickly restarted the music that had died away when I’d dialed my mother. 

The music was deafening as it rang through the speakers and I couldn’t help a small smile as I pushed up off the couch, stretching my arms over my head and wiggling my sore toes into the thick carpet. The exhaustion was still there, of course, but beneath that was a determination that had been lacking for so long, a sense of pride that, despite what I should possible feel, was well earned. As unsure as everything was, and everything was exactly that, there was still some hope to be found, however hard it may be to see. Change, adversity and opposition brought with it the opportunity for strength, unity, and creation, even if it seemed impossible. As the music kept playing, my smile widened, familiar steps running through my mind to the rhythm of the guitars, drums, and horns that washed over me and I headed back to my makeshift studio to make the most of what I had in the moment.


	43. Chapter Forty Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Snowstorms and Teaparties....

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew. This is a big one, Y'all. Lots of things happening and, consequently, LOTS OF NERVES. I know, shocking. 
> 
> Want to help relieve that nervousness? Comments and kudos go farther than you can possibly imagine. The little buttons below are magical. 
> 
> Not betad, sorry. I am sure there are LOADS of mistakes. 
> 
> As always, this is for Flames_And_Jade. You are a beautiful soul and I am so thankful to know you. 
> 
> SnitchesAndTalkers thank you for listening to my babble, inspiring me with your words and catching my autocorrect snafus. You are glorious. 
> 
> Laudanum_Cafe you are the filth queen and I bow down. Thank you for listening to me talk forever, for encouraging my filth and, most importantly, for making me laugh. Cheers, Sweetie. 
> 
> Thank you all so much for reading, I appreciate you sharing your time with me more than I can begin to say. 
> 
> Aural Satisfaction: "Angels In Everything" by Blue October

The Chicago wind was bitter and biting as we stepped out of O’Hare, spitting shards of ice down, although the heavy black clouds that hung over the rapidly darkening, now familiar horizon promised more to come, as did the weather channel. The blizzard was already canceling flights in and out as it converged closer to the city, and our flight was, in fact, the last one until the storm had passed. Laden down with luggage, Pete, Patrick and I made our way towards the rental car that Pete had booked.

Despite the sting on my face and the tips of my fingers as we made our way across the lot, I welcomed the crisp, frigid temperatures; they reminded me of home and, no matter how long I was in Vegas, there would always be a part of my heart in Boston. I hadn’t been back, nor even talked to my mother more than once in the last three months, not since the election. It isn’t as though we had been especially close before that; I hadn’t seen my mother in person since Ashley and Tim’s wedding which almost felt like another lifetime. 

Between everything that had happened with both Patrick and Pete, especially after that night we had run into Gabe again, things had shifted, or so it seemed. Maybe they hadn’t however, maybe I just saw things a bit more clearly. When Lindsey, in all of her infinite knowledge, had seen me leaving the next morning she simply grinned and muttered and ‘About fucking time’ before spinning on her heel and making her way back to her desk. There was something she knew that we didn’t, I was sure of it. 

Things were so much more open now; there was, as always, a trust that I had thought unimaginable between Patrick and me, and Pete as well, but it seemed to amplify over the last six months whether we were scening, observing or simply sprawled on the couch in their apartment, I always, always felt more myself when I was with them than I did anywhere else. They brought out the best version of me, one I wasn’t even aware existed, and I owed them more than I could possibly begin to pay back. 

My musings, however pleasant, were cut off by the automated click of car doors and Pete’s voice. 

“We lost you there for a minute, sweetheart. You okay?” Both he and Patrick were looking at me with concern in their eyes. 

“Sorry, I’m fine just lost in thought a bit. Good things, I promise.” My smile was bright and genuine as I hoisted my suitcase into the trunk of the Mercedes that Pete had, of course, booked. He never did anything halfway and I loved him for that. 

“No apologies unless you harm us, Angel.” Patrick’s tone was sweet and soft, one that melted my heart just a little every time I heard it, and I couldn’t help but laugh, adjusting the scarf that was tied around his neck. 

“I know. And I would never do that. Thank you.” Stretching up on my toes, I brushed a kiss against first Patrick’s cheek and then Pete’s, receiving a pair of bright smiles in return. 

“You are something else, Sweetheart. Now let’s get going before the weather starts to get fucking nasty. I have plans for you two.” There was somehow a leer in Pete’s voice as he slid in the driver’s seat of the ridiculous car, the engine purring to life as Patrick opened one of the back doors and slid in beside me after I got situated. 

“Knowing Pete, plans can be anything from fucking against the window to watching Terminator. There really is no way to tell and I, for one, didn’t watch him pack.” Patrick was not bothering to whisper, his eyes twinkling behind waters speckled glasses while his nose and cheeks were tipped pink from the cold. 

“You know I can hear you, Trick? And how do you know it isn’t both at the same time? I’ll have you know I am a man of many talents.” The fact that Pete was very much serious about his statement was as him as anything could be, genuine and honest to a near fault; it was beyond charming. 

“I am NOT fucking with Schwarzenegger on screen again, Peter, do not even.” Patrick’s voice was serious, but there was a bit of mirth in his words. 

“Fine, fine. Where to, Mister Stump?” There was no small amount of humor in Pete’s words as he skillfully backed the car from its parking place, the heat already blasting to chase some of the cold from the air. 

“The Langham, Jeeves, and don’t dawdle.” 

“Yes, Sir.” The reply was whip-smart and only partially a joke as Pete and Patrick’s eyes met in the rearview, a smile on both of their faces as the countdown to being able to actually relax finally, truly began. 

Although Patrick had made several trips back to Chicago for long weekends with Bronte over the last few months, sometimes alone, sometimes with Pete or I and sometimes all of us, this was another animal entirely. It was December twenty-first, Bronte’s birthday was tomorrow and then Christmas after that. Despite the technical vacation and the holiday, there was still a lot to do. Madeline, however begrudgingly, had agreed to let Patrick keep Madeline at the hotel from after her birthday until afternoon on Christmas day, a fact which shocked Patrick and absolutely delighted Bronte. Pete, however, seemed unusually smug and I had wondered, although not out loud, what exactly he had held over her head to get her to agree to it.

By the time we finally made it up to the twelfth floor, night had fallen quickly, as had the snow, blanketing the city in a cover of white. While I’d only been out of the car for a moment, the lake effect winds were in full force and chilled me to the bone. Looking down at the city sparkling with lights now, however, my hair damp and dressed in an old pair of Patrick’s flannel pajamas with a mug of rich hot chocolate in my hands, it seemed almost serene, in the most beautiful of ways. We were exhausted in that bone-deep way that only traveling at the holidays can make you, but there was an undercurrent of excitement as well, an endless anticipation for what the coming days would bring, that was almost buzzing in my veins. 

“You alright, Angel?” Patrick’s voice was soft as he stepped behind me, his arms wrapping around my waist. He was warm, still wet and clean smelling from the shower he and Pete had shared, and he rested his chin on my shoulder, his glasses askew. 

“I’m fine, just tired. Maybe a little nervous about tomorrow.” As much as I hate to admit it, I was more than a little nervous. For as many visits as we had all had with Bronte since that first one, those had all been on rather neutral ground, with no signs of Madeline’s parents in sight. Tomorrow, however, and the rest of the week, well, that was another story. Between birthday and holiday celebrations, there would be no way to avoid what was sure to be an uncomfortable situation if Madeline herself was anything to go by. 

Patrick smiled softly, the expression reflected in the window and turned his head to nuzzle lightly against my neck. “Whatever happens, it will be okay. Madeline’s parents are just like she is, and are more afraid of their reputation than anything else.” The words were tinged with conviction and I could never not believe in Patrick, especially when it came to Bronte, and so I smiled, turning to wrap my arms around him and hide a yawn against his shoulder. “I think we are all on the same page there, Angel. Come on, Pete is already in bed and very petulantly demanding cuddles, the asshole. “ Patrick twisted his fingers with mine as we headed from the living room to the master bedroom, the marble floors cold beneath my bare feet. 

“I’m pretty sure the only time Pete gets petulantly cuddy is after you two have had sex. Good shower?” There was a smile on my face and Patrick beamed, stepping back so I could duck into the bedroom. “The best, well almost. One thing missing.” 

“He means you, Sweetheart. Get your ass over here and snuggle me. You smell so much better than Trick.” Pete was grinning from the middle of the bed, his skin and tattoos dark against the linens and his hair a mess, still glittering wet from the shower as he opened his arms. Fighting a yawn, I wriggled out of my borrowed pajamas and crawled into the bed, burrowing into Pete’s embrace while Patrick flipped the light out and slipped into bed behind me, pressing a kiss to the nape of my neck. 

“Shut up and sleep, Pete, believe me, we are all going to need it. No further words were spoken as we all drifted off, the snow piling up outside. 

 

“Fucking hell. I can’t believe it took thirty minutes to go a damn mile. We would have been better off walking.” Pete was less than thrilled as we all carefully piled out of the Uber in front of The Drake, the storm had eased up, but only a bit and conditions were less than favorable for driving but there was absolutely nothing that would keep us from this tea. Fortunately, the path to the door was clear and well salted so, while cautious, we were able to make it to the door of The Drake with very little snow to be brushed off, even if we were a bit late. Pete’s arms were laden with gift bags, all presents for Bronte from either him, Patrick or the both of them, while my own gift for her was in an envelope tucked inside my bag. 

It was warm in the lobby, even after checking our coats, and I adjusted my wrap nervously, brushing at an imaginary piece of lint on the pale grey cashmere. “Breathe, Charleigh. I promise it will all be okay. I promise you. No matter what happens.” Patrick pressed a gentle kiss to my head, brushing his hand over my hair before offering me his arm with an almost rakish smile, Pete laughing from my other side, the sound carrying throughout the lobby and drawing more than a few pairs of eyes. As usual, Pete didn’t care, giving the onlookers a bright smile.

The scene was familiar in the extreme. Bronte had requested tea at The Drake for her birthday, and in a surprising turn of events, that was actually indulged. Madeline was, from what I had seen, less than ecstatic with the request, but not even she was cruel enough to deny her daughter on her twelfth birthday. Despite the storm outside, there were a fair number of people scattered about at their tables for tea, and the harpist, as always, was perched in the corner, her delicate music a perfect accompaniment to the low din of conversation as she played a familiar Christmas standard. 

I saw Madeline and Bronte before they noticed us, the matching red of their hair standing out against the pale creams and whites of the room itself. Senator and Mrs. Duchossois were seated at the table as well, looking exactly as I had remembered them; elegant and cold, not unlike my own parents. The similarities sadden me for a moment before a very familiar voice reached my ears. 

“Dad! Papa Pete! Miss Charleigh! You came! Mom said that you might not be able to make it because of the storm, but I had a feeling you would come.” Bronte sounded absolutely elated and was nearly bouncing as we approached the table. Her smile was matched by Patrick, Pete and myself because, well, there was no way that you couldn’t return a grin like that. 

“We wouldn’t miss it for the world, B.” Patrick’s voice was sincere as he settled into one of the open chairs beside Bronte, Madeline to his left, as Pete and I took the two open ones on her other side. 

“Sorry we're late, Kiddo.” Pete’s voice was light but he gave a very pointed glare at Madeline as she opened her mouth, and she closed it almost immediately. 

“That’s okay, I know the snow was a mess. Grandma said we might have to reschedule but we still made it.” Bronte was matter-of-fact as she brushed at a bit of fluff on her sweater. 

“Robert, Marilyn, it’s been a while.” There was no hiding the disdain in Patrick’s voice as he addressed Madeline’s parents, both who looked as though he had just waltzed up and peed in their tea. The sentiment was returned, however, and Senator Duchossois frowned, his voice tight. 

“Patrick, what a surprise. And I see you brought guests. How delightful.” 

“Bob, Mary! It’s been what, thirteen years? You haven’t changed a bit.” Pete’s voice was light but his eyes were hard as he looked at the older couple who looked absolutely furious. Bronte, for her part, could sense some of the hostility in the air and set her teacup back down. 

“Grandma, Grandpa, I told you that I had people coming, and Mom knew. I thought she told you.” The poor girl looked more upset than any child should at their birthday celebration. She looked like a doll, one that had been styled by someone who was decidedly more focused on appearances than comfort and the cream dress and sweater she wore was covered in sparkles and frills, matching the bow that held her hair back. I remembered having an almost identical outfit when I was her age, and I hated it as well. 

“Bronte, why don’t you go wash your hands before the food gets here?” Although it was a question, there was no mistaking the command in Marilyn’s voice and Bronte, although she sighed, complied, giving Patrick a bright smile as she passed in response to his wink. As soon as she was out of sight, any pretense of civility dropped from both Robert and Marilyn’s faces, although voices were still kept low to avoid any unwanted attention. 

“I don’t know who the hell you think you are coming in here like this but-”

“You know exactly who I am, Robert, although it is amusing that you would even begin to question that. I’m Bronte’s father and I have every right to be here. I have missed out on the first eleven birthday parties, I am not going to miss another one.” Patrick, although composed, as usual, had anger nearly rolling off of him in waves. 

“Oh please, you were a child, we did what was best fo-” 

“Mary. You did what was best for you and your husband's reputation and don't you even fucking dare to try and say otherwise. Surely you didn’t think your daughter got pregnant all by herself now did you? Cause I can guarantee there was no immaculate conception there. In fact, if I recall correctly, there were a few people after Patr-” 

“Peter, that is enough.” Marilyn’s face was red and the delicate china on the table shook as she slammed her hand down, casting the briefest of glances at Madeline who kept her head down. 

Pete looked smug as he shook his head. “Not even close. You really had no clue we were in the picture at all, did you? Yeah, I’ve spent enough time with that girl that she calls me Papa Pete. I’m certain that didn’t escape your attention and I really, truly hope it pisses your bigoted, homophobic asses right the fuck off. I don’t know how that kid ended up as great as she did surrounded by so many assholes, but goddamn if that isn’t a testament to nature versus nurture, I don’t know what is.” 

Senator Duchossois face went white and if looks could kill, Pete, Patrick and I would all be ash. “Is it any wonder we didn’t want you around? You two were both trouble then and obviously, that hasn’t changed now. I’m sure you have made quite the life for yourself out in Vegas. You fit right in don’t you?”

“Actually, yes, Robert, we have an incredible life, contrary to your repeated predictions.” Patrick was calm as could be, taking a sip of the water in front of him as though he was discussing the weather. 

“You are not welcome here, I can’t imagine that you are unaware of that fact.” Marilyn’s voice was like ice as her gaze darted between Patrick, Pete, and I. “This is a family function.”

“You forget, Marilyn, I am family, as is Pete. Just ask Bronte.” The smile on Patrick’s face was easy but there was a darkness behind his eyes that spoke volumes.

“I’m not asking that child anything, not on this matter. If I didn’t know that you would make a scene that would hit the front page of every paper in the city, I would have both of you removed right now.” Robert spoke with what I knew to be a practiced calm, the same tone I had heard from my own father time and again. “However, the prodigal daughter of a Governor? I’m sure you can understand the importance of family and privacy, Miss Gabriel. I always thought you would end up better than that. I do suppose there is no accounting for taste. It’s a pity, you had such promise at one point and to see it squandered, well...” 

The slight was not lost on me for even a moment, although it didn’t lessen the effect and I dropped my gaze, my cheeks bright as I bit my tongue. 

“Robert, I advise you to watch your goddamn tone, right now.” Patrick was furious, his voice low and nearly threatening, despite how coolly he spoke. 

“Oh fuck that shit. You pretentious, disgusting, son of a bitch. I don’t even know where the hell you get off telling anyone about taste when you have been fu-” 

“Pete, don’t. Please.” I was quiet but firm in my request and Pete looked almost shocked that I had spoken, but he closed his mouth, giving my hand a gentle squeeze. “It isn’t worth it, trust me.” I glanced between Marilyn and Madeline, their lovely faces twisted by disgust and shame respectively. There was no way they were unaware of what Pete was going to say, I knew it just as well as they did, and that was not something that needed to be brought out into the open right now. 

“Only because you asked, Sweetheart.” The whisper was soft, and there was a broken silence that fell over the table as Spencer, the same waiter that we had had at that fateful tea so many months ago, appeared with tea trays and plates laden with treats, both sweet and savory alike, setting a dish of creme brulee, adorned with edible flowers at Bronte’s table. He was a smart man and picked up on the tension immediately, muttering a brief ‘Enjoy’ before turning away back from whence he came. 

“Regardless, Miss Gabriel, you can say goodbye to Bronte and excuse yourself. You are not family and your presence is unwanted.” Robert delivered the scathing remark as casually as asking about weather and plucked a mini quiche off of one of the tea trays, his point clearly made. 

“Father that is utterly ridiculous,” Madeline spoke up for the first time since we had arrived, although the waver in her voice gave away the trepidation behind her bold choice of words. 

“Don’t even start, Madeline.” 

“Robert, you realize that your ludicrous demands are only going to upset your granddaughter, don’t you?” Patrick’s knuckles were white as he clenched his hands into fists, his blue eyes dark with anger.

 

“Patrick, Bronte will get over it, I’m sure there is a rational explanation for why your little-”

“Finish that sentence, Bob. I fucking dare you.” Pete’s chair slid back just slightly as he moved to stand, but I rested a hand on his leg to stop him. 

“It’s not worth it, not right now.” I tilted my chin at the girl making her way back to the table, still far enough away to be out of earshot. 

“I wish I could say it was nice seeing you again, Miss Gabriel, but that would be a lie. Say goodbye and get out.” Even Marilyn looked appalled at her husband’s behavior as he took a bite of his mini quiche as though nothing had even happened. 

Bronte’s smile slipped as she got back to her seat and she shifted uncomfortably even as she eyed the dessert in front of her place. “What’s going on?” There was an almost resigned worry in her voice, far too old for her age. 

All eyes turned to Senator Duchossois and he sighed as though speaking to his granddaughter on her birthday was a chore. “As nice as it was of Miss Gabriel to come out today, this is a family event and she isn’t family. She understands that and will be leaving shortly.” 

Bronte’s face fell as she looked over at me, her big eyes going wide as she sighed, seeming sadly resigned. “But I invited her.” Her voice was tiny and heartbreaking, and Madeline actually had tears in her eyes. 

“There is no discussion Bronte, this tea is for family.” Apparently, the Senator’s words were final and I embraced Bronte, fishing her present from my bag and resting it gently on the tabletop. 

“I’m sorry, Sunshine, but I promise I will make it up to you, okay?” I spoke quietly, although I knew that the Senator could hear me. Bronte sniffled and hugged me as tight as she could before pulling away with a sad smile. 

“Thank you for coming, Miss Charleigh, I’m sorry that Grandpa is making you leave.” There was no hiding her displeasure and I couldn’t help but smile at the fact that she spoke her mind so freely, even having been raised in a world where she was taught to do the exact opposite. 

“It isn’t your fault, Bronte.” Madeline was the last person I thought would speak up, and the glare she got in return was scathing, although she seemed to almost brush it off. I gave Pete’s hand a squeeze and met Patrick’s gaze for just a moment before pushing my chair back and standing to smooth out the skirt of my dress. 

“Bronte, thank you so much for inviting me, I’ll see you later alright?” The girl nodded simply, staring down into her tea and I felt a flash of anger like I had never known towards her Grandparents and mother. “Pete, Patrick, I’ll see you back at the hotel.” I didn’t look back once I had started towards the doors, I knew that I wouldn’t be able to hold my composure if I did, instead standing as tall as my five foot two frame would allow and making my way back to the coat room to bundle back up. 

The snow had started to pick up again as I stepped out of The Drake, nodding politely at the red-coated doorman as he shivered against the cold. Adjusting my gloves, I twisted my wrap tightly over the collar of my cream colored coat as I made my way towards the curb to hail a cab. The snow was falling heavily, the flakes fat and lovely despite the chaos that they caused. 

“Charleigh!” Patrick’s voice was loud and I stopped, turning on the slippery walk to face the doors just in time to see him dash out of them. He was jacketless and the snowflakes stood out with his black hat and vest, melting into small, dark patches on the arms of his light grey dress shirt. 

“Patrick, what are you doing out here? You are going to freeze. Go back inside, please? I promise it isn’t worth it. I’ve dealt with people like Senator Duchossois his whole life and we get to spend the next four days with Bronte so as much as it-” 

“Stop, Angel. It is worth it. He was wrong, he was far more wrong than I think any of us even know and I am so, so fucking sorry. You didn’t deserve that and Bronte sure as fuck didn’t and I hate that it is even an issue. And I know it is only because of Pete’s social standing that that asshole didn’t kick him out as well and that makes me absolutely furious. It isn’t right and I just, I want to make it right. You deserve to be in that girl’s life just as much as Pete and I are. I don’t think you can even begin to know how much you mean to her, to any of us really. Pete is so fucking gone on you that he doesn’t even know which end is up. Hell, I was halfway in love with you that first night you walked back into Flame, even if I was too goddamn stubborn to see it.” Patrick was going on almost uncharacteristically rapidly, his usual controlled demeanor giving way to something fast approaching nervousness, although I had no clue why. 

“Patrick, I-” 

“I know, can I just… I need to finish or I won’t be able to.” There was a hesitation in his voice as his thumb brushed across my cheek. “I know it doesn’t make sense, and it seems rash which I’m not, but I’ve been trying to figure out how to say this for weeks, and believe me, Peter has not been any help.” There was a touch of humor to the words, Patrick’s lush, pink lips turning up into the slightest of smiles. “But I think, I don’t know how but. This isn’t because of what just happened, not at all, but it kind of opened my eyes a little bit to what is important and I just- fuck.” Patrick closed his eyes as though centering his thoughts, and wrapped his bare hands around my gloved ones, squeezing lightly. “I don’t usually get flustered, I never have, not since Pete, but then you came along and just threw me for a loop. I didn’t know what to do about you, not even in the slightest and those months that you were with Saporta were worse than the ones where you were gone. That night you showed up again, everything seemed to just fit back into place, and then after Tim and Ashley’s wedding, and meeting Bronte for the first time… I don’t know if you have any clue how much we love you, Pete and I both.You are so much more than just My Submissive or a girlfriend. I didn’t even know that I was missing you until you were here. I just…” Patrick sighed his breath a puff of white against the frigid air. “You know I have gone over this so many times and it was always more eloquent than this.” There was a small laugh, in his words, quiet and sweet, and I met his eyes for just a moment, clear and blue without his glasses before he leaned in brushing his lips across my cheek, warm against my snow chilled skin. 

And then the warmth was gone, although he still held my hands in his as he dropped, gracefully as always, down to one knee on the wet snowy ground, and looked up at me with more vulnerability than I had ever seen in his eyes. “Marry me?”


	44. Chapter Forty Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Answers and alcoves

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This took me forever and I am so, so sorry. I really hope that it is enjoyed. The nerves are real, y'all. 
> 
> Comments and kudos help alleviate that as well as make me write faster if you are so inclined. 
> 
> Not betaed as always, mistakes are all mine. 
> 
> For the ever delightful Flames_And_Jade, you are a gem and I adore you to pieces.
> 
> Thank you to SnitchesAndTalkers for being my best cheerleader and listening to HOURS of endless babble. You are a saint. 
> 
> Love and coffee to Laudanum_Cafe for also listening to my babble, as well as questioning my reasoning and making sure I treat my characters right. Thank you Sweetie, Darling. 
> 
> Thank you to everyone who takes the time out of their day to read this (not so) little tale, it means so much that you would share your precious time with me. 
> 
> I am always over on AllKindsOfPlatinumAndPercocet if you ever want to talk about anything, really. 
> 
> Aural Pleasure; 'Me ANd My Charms- String Version' by Kristin Hersh

There are moments when time seems to stop and everything snaps into a sudden, bright and almost painful clarity with such force that it nearly bowls you over; no matter what was happening around you, and the same happens with people. Looking down at Patrick, snow falling around us and the slow din of Chicago traffic, always present even in a blizzard, everything narrowed itself down and stood out in perfect, sharp-edged relief as the rest of the world melted away. 

I blinked once, and then again as my brain rushed to actually process what I was not only hearing but seeing, opening and closing my mouth. The salt sting in my eyes had nothing to do with the bitter wind, and I swallowed against the lump that had formed in my suddenly dry throat, my gaze locked on Patrick. He seemed impossibly small on bended knee, without anything even resembling protection against the snow that was rapidly collecting on his shoulders and hat; catching on impossibly light lashes. His eyes were so blue they almost seemed frozen themselves, the hope in them warring with vulnerability and what almost seemed like fear as his hand stayed wrapped around mine the warmth permeating through my gloves. 

“Patrick, I-” The words were quiet as I stumbled over them, watching Patrick’s face fall with each passing moment. And then, as if someone had hit pause, everything came into an almost blinding focus and I realized what I was doing, or at least what it must have seemed like. “No! No, not no. Yes, of course. Yes.” It wasn’t until the last word finally fell from my lips that Patrick seemed to believe what he was hearing. The smile on his face was absolutely blinding, even after my ridiculous stuttering and I barely had time to blink before he was back on his feet, my face held gently between his freezing hands as he pulled me in for a kiss, sweet and full of promise. 

“You mean it?” There was a hesitance in his voice as he met my gaze, the nerves that he was trying to hide giving themselves away in his eyes as his thumb stroked over my cheekbone. 

“Of course. There are things to talk about, but maybe we can do that inside?” The wind was gusting, jostling Patrick's hat and sending the hair that peened out from beneath the black brim every which way, although, despite the cold, I couldn’t hide my smile. 

“Of course, of course,” Patrick spoke almost as an afterthought, dropping another gentle kiss before taking my hand and leading me back into the doors that we had come out of just a few minutes ago, past the beaming doorman who tipped his hat. As soon as the glass doors closed behind us, I brushed the snow from Patrick’s shoulders as he adjusted his hat. 

The blast of warm air against snow chilled skin brought a slight burn to my cheeks, and Patrick was nearly shivering as he finished brushing himself off. Resting a gentle hand on my back, he lead me to a small alcove just before the coat check as I pulled off my gloves and rearranged my scarf to shrug out of my jacket. 

Pale hands disappeared into the pockets on his trousers and I couldn’t tell if the pink tint to Patrick’s cheeks was from the cold or not; I was guessing not. “You know, I planned that a lot better. I didn’t even… I have a ring, but between your gloves and the below freezing temperatures, well..” His voice trailed off as he gave me an almost boyish smile, carefully opening the lid on a black velvet box and holding it out to me, hand shaking just the slightest bit. The ring was breathtaking and delicate, a center diamond surrounded by smaller stones that made up what looked like a sakura blossom, set in shining white gold with more stones scattered along the band. “Pete is actually the one that picked it out, and when I saw it I just knew. If you don’t like it we can-” 

“No, no, Patrick it is absolutely perfect.” The tears that had pricked at my eyes earlier finally spilled over and down my cheeks. “It’s perfect.” My words brought another blinding smile and things seemed to slow down, once again, as Patrick slipped the ring onto my finger, still cold from the weather but nothing less than exactly what I had never let myself hope for. I could feel the no doubt ridiculous smile pulling on my cheeks as I looked back down at my hand, the diamonds in the ring twinkling in the light. And then Patrick’s words actually registered and I felt my heart sink just a little bit. 

While I wasn’t one to put labels on relationships, mostly because there hadn’t really been any to speak of before now, this was definitely huge, and there was absolutely a label attached, plus so many other strings and implications that it carried. And then there was Pete. As much as I belonged to Patrick, and I did in every sense of the word, I had for a while, Pete factored heavily into that, in more ways than I could begin to fathom. Pete and Patrick were on what felt like another level, sometimes, although not in a bad way; they had so much history with each other, and the love between the two of them was almost a physical presence once they were outside Flame. It had been beautiful to watch as an observer, and then to gradually become a part of something that was so pure and real was almost unbelievable. But this changed things, and I wasn’t quite sure how. 

Patrick, observant as always, frowned and wrapped my hands in his. “What’s wrong, Angel?” His voice was so gentle it almost hurt. 

“What about Pete?” There was a waver in the words and I looked up to meet Patrick’s eyes, to be greeted by nothing but happiness in their blue depths. 

“Pete is so ecstatic I can’t even begin to tell you. It’s a bit complicated, but I promise, there is nothing wrong, Charleigh. I promise.” The last words were whispered against my head as Patrick pulled me into a hug, the material of his shirt damp and chilled under my cheek. I believed him with everything in me; I always had. “We can talk about it soon, okay? After the holiday, I think, once Bronte has gone back to Madeline’s.” There was more than a bit of disdain in Patrick’s voice as he spoke of his ex, although it was balanced by the obvious joy of having his daughter for more than a few hours at a time. “Speaking of which, we should probably get back.” 

The suggestion was a quiet one and I sighed softly, selfishly for the briefest moment, at the thought of having to leave again; not Robert and Marilyn, of course, but Patrick, Pete, and Bronte. Shaking off the negative thoughts, I rose up on my tiptoes to meet Patrick’s lips in a kiss, gentle but heated, the hint of a promise behind it. “Is it wrong that I don’t want to leave?” 

Patrick seemed genuinely confused by my statement and leaned back to meet my gaze. “Angel, what? You aren’t going anywhere other than back to finish a twelfth birthday tea party. Robert was clear in that this was a family event when he dicked around and kicked you out. I’m fairly certain future step-mother qualifies pretty explicitly as family.” He didn’t hide his smile at the words, and I couldn’t help mine, in turn, beaming as I took his proffered arm as we left our tiny alcove to head back through the beautifully decorated room towards the table we had left what seemed like a lifetime ago. 

I could see Pete smiling as we approached, all teeth and pure joy, that nearly radiated from him. Bronte, beside him in an animated conversation, paused at his lack of attention and grinned, an expression so like Patrick’s that it was almost unbelievable. My hand tightened, however slightly, on Patrick’s arm and he just smiled his voice low. “It’ll be okay.” 

“Patrick, I thought I was clear?” Senator Duchossois did not bother to hide his displeasure, narrowing his eyes pointedly at me. Marilyn and Madeline, surprisingly and very much to their credit, looked down, studying their tea and obviously embarrassed by the situation. 

Giving the older man little more than a cursory glance, Patrick pulled my chair out for me and smiled at both Pete and Bronte. “So, B, can you and Papa Pete go take a walk for a few minutes? I need to talk to your Grandparents about something.” Bronte nodded and hopped out of her chair, brushing down the fluffy layers of her skirt with a wrinkled nose. 

“Sure thing, Dad. And thanks for not treating me like I don’t know something is going on.” The girl spoke with a genuine kindness in her voice and her words gave credence to the upbringing that I was well aware that she’d had. With a kiss to Patrick’s cheek and a smile at me, the girl headed towards the massive Christmas tree in the lobby. Pete, following behind her, rested a hand on both my and Patrick’s shoulders for a moment before shooting the Duchossois’s a look and following behind the girl whom he absolutely adored. 

“What is the meaning of this, Patrick? I was abundantly clear earlier. This is a family event. Peter shouldn’t even be here, but with his standing and his propensity for outbursts I really can’t-”

“That is enough, Robert.” Patrick’s voice was cold, the tone one I had heard used with Elisa in the past, and I watched as The Senator, obviously not used to getting anything but his own way, stared in shock. “You may be able to do whatever the fuck you want with most people, regardless of the consequences, but when it comes to my family, you will reconsider your borderline abusive tactics, do you understand me? I will not have the people I care about be subject to your irrational tantrums and that includes My Daughter. This is, in case you have forgotten, her birthday party which, surprisingly, is supposed to be about her and not you. You are a bully, Robert. You patronize people, you are utterly and disgustingly controlling, especially when it comes to your wife and daughter, and you make me sick. If I could take Bronte out of here for good right now, I would. And you better fucking believe that I would fight tooth and nail for custody of that child to keep her the fuck away from you. Sorry, Madeline, it is true and you know it.” The last sentence was delivered with slightly less anger, although the authority that Patrick spoke with was undeniable. It was obvious Senator Duchossois was not used to being spoken to in anything but simpering, polite deference and the look on his face showed that in spades. 

“You little ingrate. You can’t possibly think that you would even be able to look in the direction of a court without being laughed at, do you? You haven’t been in Bronte’s life at all until recently. As if any court would even think about moving a child from a home with a loving family to live with a morally bankrupt, glorified prostitute and his fag boyfriend, to say nothing of your little who-” The Senator’s tirade was cut off by Patrick’s hand landing on the table, firm enough to rattle the delicate china and pull the attention of both of the other women, whose eyes were wide and belayed fear that spoke of years of this behavior. The fear, in this case, however, was unnecessary. 

“Enough. You are one to talk, truly. That loving home that you talk about is a pretty fucking front for thinly veiled emotional abuse and manipulation. Your wife and daughter are fucking terrified of you. And I think both the gifts and the money I have sent over the last twelve years, all of which I have paper trails for, establish that I was involved in her life, although not a physical presence because you literally kept her from me. Literally. As for morally bankrupt, well, I have been monogamous for the last twelve years, something which we all know you know nothing about. And my job, well, it may be questionable, but I am certainly not a prostitute. I am not even going to address your blatant homophobia and disrespect because, frankly, at this point, it is to be expected, although I will warn you exactly once to tread carefully about what you say next. I have more resources than you can imagine, Robert, and I will use them in a heartbeat to keep my family safe, including Bronte. Keep going, I dare you. “ The threat in Patrick’s calm voice was very clear, and by the way Robert paled, he knew that is was something that he should be worried about. Marilyn and Madeline sat stock still, although there was the faintest hint of respect in the older woman’s eyes. 

“Be that as it may, Patrick, this is and will continue to be a family party. Miss Gabriel, if you wouldn’t mind leaving, again.” The Senator was clearly flustered, his hands shaking as he gripped his napkin, knuckles white. 

“I’m afraid that isn’t possible, Senator Duchossois. Bronte invited me here and, despite your childish display earlier, I won’t be disappointing that girl any more than she already has been. “ Whether my courage was drawn from Patrick’s hand squeezing mine gently beneath the table or from the sheer disgust of the display I had witnessed, I did not know, but I spoke with more conviction than I had in a very long time. 

“Your father would be ashamed of you, Charleigh. You had so much promise at one point. It’s a pity to see you sl-”

“Robert, shut up,” Marilyn spoke up for the first time since we had returned, although it seemed to take everything in her to do so. The woman, while never one of my favorite people, was obviously in a disgusting sham of a marriage, although that didn’t make what she had done any less wrong. Both her husband and daughter looked at her with wide eyes, although for startlingly different reasons. 

“Your definition of family, however, skewed it may be, surely applies to stepparents, especially in today’s society. I am sure well over half of your constituents are from blended families, Robert. Seeing as Charleigh is Bronte’s future stepmother, well, I am certain that qualifies.” There was a certain amount of pride in Patrick’s voice and his smile was genuine, although brief. 

“Bullshit.” The curse was uttered with nothing less than unbridled contempt and I simply shook my head, pointedly resting my left hand on the table, the new ring glistening in the overhead lights. “This is obviously some sc-”

“More tea, Senator?” Spencer, waiter extraordinaire who had been silently standing behind Senator Duchossois for the entirety of his trade smiled innocently, although the meaning behind it was clear. The young man received little more than a grunt in reply as he replaced the pot in front of the older man with unabashed glee and a wink at Patrick and me before heading back away. 

“Now, Robert. Bronte and Pete are coming back. If I hear anything that even begins to upset that child, I will take her out of here so fast your head will spin. She is already staying with me until Christmas afternoon and I’m sure, based on your entirely childish display today, that Madeline would not hesitate to let her stay with me for the duration of my visit, am I right, Madeline?” Patrick spoke in low, carefully measured tones and Madeline, for her part, simply nodded, although the smile that just barely pulled at her lips was obvious to both Patrick and me. 

“Dad, Miss Charleigh, Papa Pete said I can open my presents now that everyone was back, can I?” The excitement in Bronte’s voice as she settled back in her chair was contagious, and both Patrick and I smiled as Pete settled back into his chair. Senator Duchossois looked far from amused at the question, but his face quickly went blank, only to be replaced by a fake smile that I knew all too well. 

“Of course you can, Bronte. Here, open the one from your Grandmother and me first.” The dig was evident, although harmless at this point as Marilyn handed over a large gilded box tied with a fanciful if ridiculous bow. Bronte lifted the lid to reveal a doll that looked, almost eerily, just like her, down to the matching dress. It was obvious that it cost a great deal of money, but it was also obvious that the girl didn’t like it in the slightest, although she was polite about it. 

“Thank you, Grandma and Grandpa, she is beautiful.” Perfectly polite, although there was no animation in her voice. The same could not be said for when she opened the rest of her presents. It would seem that Patrick and Pete both were trying to make up for the years that had been taken from them with the presents they lavished on Bronte, but she was excited with each gift. While they were all quality, there was nothing overly extravagant about them; they were actually meant for children to enjoy; journals, colored pencils and dainty jewelry in a very familiar turquoise box. Bronte nearly bounced as she opened the box containing the diminutive keys in white gold adorning both a necklace and an open link charm bracelet, immediately asking for Patrick’s help in putting them on. Both of them looked overjoyed and I saw Pete not at all inconspicuously snapping pictures of it, no doubt to be shared later. 

Although my gift wasn’t at all flashy, or even well wrapped, Bronte actually squealed when she opened it, her brow creasing just slightly until she made out the writing on the tickets, bolting out of her chair and throwing her arms around my neck in sheer joy.

The Senator’s theatrics aside, it was a lovely, and fitting birthday party for an absolutely amazing girl, and I had to admit that I was a bit saddened when it was over, although there was something deeply satisfying about seeing Bronte button up her coat and hug her mother, only giving her parents a brief wave before she followed Pete towards the doors, Patrick and I following behind them out into the storm.


	45. Chapter Forty Five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bedtime and bathtime

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for being so patient while these assholes started talking again. Ridiculous, I tell you. So, this happened and, as usual, I am nervous as cats. You know what helps alleviate that? Kudos and comments. Or, if you don't want to say anything here, you can leave your thoughts over on tumblr. I promise. 
> 
> This has not been betaed, as per usual, so any and all mistakes are mine. Sorry. 
> 
> As always, this goes out to Flames_And_Jade. I adore you lady, more than glitter and that is ALOT.
> 
> Much love and thanks to SnitchesAndTalkers for cheerleading, talking me down and talking shit. 
> 
> To the queen of dirty ideas, Laudanum_Cafe, I give thanks and will take bath duty for at least two weeks. As long as I can have a Boli and Stoli. You are adored, Sweetie Darling. 
> 
> And a huge, unending thank you to everyone who is reading this, it means more than words can say that you take time out of your day to read my story. 
> 
> Aural Satisfaction; 'Heart ANd Shoulder' by Heather Nova

To say the rest of the evening with Bronte was an improvement was an understatement. After the nearly thirty minute, one-mile ride back to The Langham, Bronte’s suitcase and birthday bags in the trunk, things mellowed immensely. The storm was still raging outside, although it was supposed to start to ease around midnight, which made the next day’s plans all the more hopeful. 

As soon as we were all unbundled from the trip, and after a brief stop at the nearly two-story Christmas tree in the lobby, Bronte announced, with little hesitance, that she hated her dress and it was going to change before marching into the guest suite to do just that. She was so very much her father’s daughter. After a leisurely dinner of a vast selection of starters from the room service menu, and a captivating viewing of The Labyrinth, complete with commentary from both Patrick and Pete, Bronte declared herself exhausted and gathered her pile of blankets and the copy of ‘Anne Of Green Gables’ that Pete had given her for her birthday before hugging Pete and then I in turn. 

“Miss Charleigh, are you going to marry My Dad?” The question was honest and innocent, proving exactly what an observant child Bronte actually was, and I could hear the smile in her voice. 

“I am, eventually. Is that okay with you?” My nerves were jangling as I waited for the answer, although I knew it was ridiculous as soon as I saw her grin. 

“Of course it is. I’m gonna have to think of something else to call you now though.” It was so casual that I couldn’t help but laugh, both Pete and Patrick doing the same, as Bronte rolled her eyes. “You’re all weird and I am going to bed.” Pausing halfway to the door to the guest room, Bronte turned, her face unsure. “Dad, can we talk for a little while?” She seemed unsure of the question, although Patrick was up in a shot and at her side. 

“Of course we can, B. Always.” The answer seemed to pacify her and, with a wave of her hand and a nod of Patrick’s head, they disappeared into the guest room leaving Pete and me on the couch, barefoot and relaxed his eyes drifting towards the snow that was still falling over the city as we rested in companionable, sweet silence while the minutes ticked by. 

“I’m gonna clean up from dinner and take a shower, I think. It’s been a long day. You okay?” I nudged Pete with my stocking foot and was graced with a bright smile, that went past the surface, his eyes crinkling at the corners. 

“Sweetheart, I have never been better. I’ve got a feeling that they are going to be in there for a while yet. Go do what you need.” Pete scrambled up to kiss my head, swatting my behind as I stood and I could hear the television flipping as I stacked the dishes and cutlery from the dining table back on the room service cart and rolled it out into the hallway. 

Grabbing my shoes, I padded into the master suite, setting them in the closet before heading to the bathroom. My dress was comfortable but it had been a very long day and I just wanted to get comfortable. Dropping my phone on the counter, I scrolled quickly through my playlists and finally settled on one, the heavy bass and resonant vocals, nodding my head as I slipped off my glasses and started to pull the pins from my hair. They clicked on the marble as I let them fall, standing out stark and gold against the white and grey of the vanity. 

I had turned my attention to my earrings when a pair of hands rested on my waist, the golden skin and black ink standing in sharp contrast to the soft blue wool as a stubbled jaw brushed against my cheek before lips teased against my neck. 

“Hey, Sweetheart.” Pete’s voice was quiet and I could hear his smile as I tilted my head to the side, allowing him better access as I dropped my arms to my sides. 

“Well hey yourself.” I smiled as I watched our reflections, dark and light in sharp, beautiful contrast. Pete’s hands slid from my waist up my back to rest on my shoulders as he straightened up, whiskey eyes meeting mine in the mirror. 

“So we have some celebrating to do, hmmm?” The words were accompanied by fingers brushing my hair off my neck as I nodded, and then drifting to the zipper at the back of my dress, slowly lowering it before pushing the garment off my shoulders to pool at my feet. “Jesus Christ. You are fucking sinful.” Pete’s fingers roamed over delicate white silk and lace, not directly touching my skin. 

“I’m glad you like it.” I didn’t hide my smile, running my tongue over my lips as I leaned back slightly against Pete’s chest. 

“I do like it, very much. Can I request that you always wear stockings? Because Jesus, so much fucking pretty.” Fingertips slipped just barely below the lace of my garter belt and I sighed as I rested my head back on his shoulder. 

“I can see what I can do, although they can get a bit annoying at times.” It was the truth, but in most cases, the trouble was worth the reward. 

“Patrick says the same thing about his pretty panties. I suppose I can learn to live with the special moments.” Pete’s lips drifted back to my neck, teeth grazing just barely over the sensitive spot just under my ear and I shivered. “You wanna make our boy very, very happy?” There was a glint in Pete’s eyes as he spoke and I smiled. 

“I would love that.” 

“Good Girl. Stay right there, I’ll be back.” Another kiss to my neck and Pete was gone, dashing into the bedroom. I could hear rummaging for a moment before he returned, his shirt discarded and his feet bare. A small, black and grey glass bottle clicked as it was set down on the counter, and it took a moment for me to place it, although the second item that was rested beside it helped more than a little. The light glinted off of the stainless steel and I fought a shiver as Pete’s hands rested on my hips. 

“We’ll have to be very, very quiet.” He grinned as he spoke, gaze darting to the shower, and I could see the gears turning in his mind. 

“I can do that, I think.” I wasn’t sure, not quite but I was more than happy to try, and I could already feel the familiar stirring of anticipation and arousal beginning, hot and coiling, in my belly. 

“Good girl.” The praise never ceased to affect me and fought a shiver as Pete smirked in the mirror, his hand resting between my shoulder blades and pressing lightly. “Forearms on the counter, ass out.” I complied easily, leaning forward and keeping my gaze locked solidly on Pete’s reflection as he gathered the plug and lube and dropped to his knees. His hands roamed over my ass, pushing aside lace and silk before his teeth grazed over one cheek, as his free hand slipped into my panties, teasing my clit. 

I sucked in a sharp breath and rocked my feet forward just slightly into the touch as one finger sunk easily inside me, and I bit back a quiet sigh. “Pete.” 

“Yes, Sweetheart?” His breath ghosted over the wet trail left on my skin by his tongue and I fought a shiver as he teased, not wasting a single moment as he changed his mind, sliding my panties down to my thighs and settled into an easy rhythm. Another finger, slick and cold with lube pressed against my asshole, not inside just yet but just circling and a sweet pressure as I rocked my hips, pressing back in a silent request for more. My breath caught as Pete complied and I sucked in a sharp breath when his finger pushed past the tight pucker. 

Despite the amount of time that we had been together, this was not something that we had done only once before, the night of that fateful afternoon tea. It was, however immensely enjoyable and I whimpered as the pain quickly ebbed and pleasure took its place as Pete’s skilled fingers brought me closer and closer to that beautiful edge. And then everything was gone. I didn’t hide my pout, or the soft whine, at the loss.

“Patience, I promise it will be worth it.” I could hear the focus in his voice as Pete spread my cheeks, and the cold, lube-slick end of the plug pressed against my hole, just resting there for a moment. “Are you ready, Sweetheart?” 

Giving a nod, my hair fell in front of my face as Pete’s teeth skimmed over the curve of my ass, at the same moment he pushed on the jeweled end of the plug, sliding it slowly and steadily past the widest point so it nestled easily in my ass. The feeling of fullness was still slightly unusual, but decidedly pleasurable, and Pete’s hands returned to my hips, carefully turning me to face him and slipping my panties back up over my hips. 

“Does that feel okay?” I nodded, swallowing hard as Pete’s breath tickled against my thighs. 

“It feels very, very okay, thank you.” My voice trembled and a warm tongue teases along the edge of one of my garters, sending leaving me shaking. “Please, Pete.” It was a plea, one met with a bright, eager smile and sparkling whiskey eyes. 

“Anything you want. Anything.” His words were hot against my thigh as he pushed my legs slightly apart and pulled my panties to the side before he lowered his mouth, teasing my clit. My hands grasped the edge of the counter, the marble cold under my fingers as I pressed into him, the feather-light sensation not nearly enough. Letting go of the vanity with one hand, I wound my fingers in Pete’s hair, biting my lip to keep quiet as he moaned against my skin at the gentle tug. 

Pete was thorough in everything he did, and sex was not an exception to his ethics, his tongue lapping and circling as his fingers pressed tightly against my hips. Somewhere in the distance, I could hear the sound of a door clicking but between Pete’s mouth and the beautiful pressure of the toy in my ass comprehension of my surroundings was at an all-time low. 

“Jesus fuck look at you two.” Patrick’s voice and a particularly clever flick of Pete’s tongue were all that I needed, apparently, and I bit my lip, hard, as my climax washed over me, my vision going white and my knees shaking as they went weak, Pete’s firm grip on my hips the only thing holding me up. It wasn’t until the blissful warmth of his mouth finally moved away that I opened my eyes, vision still blurry and fingers tangled tightly in dark hair as Pete looked up at me with an almost blinding smile, his lips shiny. 

“Hey, Trick. We’re celebrating. You should come join us.” There was a tease in his voice as Pete sat back, shifting his weight and sliding his hands to my waist before lifting me easily to perch on the counter. “I won’t let you fall, I promise.” His words were sweet, tender to the point of being sappy, and I couldn’t help my lazy smile as I looked down at him, and then up at Patrick who was still leaning against the doorway that leads to the bedroom. Feet and head bare, his shirtsleeves were rolled up and there was an absolutely devilish grin on his face. Holding a single finger up, he vanished for a moment and I heard the clicking of a lock before he came back in the other door, locking that one as well. 

“Just making sure,” Patrick spoke softly as he crossed the expansive stretch of marble and wound a hand in Pete’s hair, tugging him up to meet his lips in a bruising kiss. I watched, fascinated as always at the depth of their relationship, evident in something as simple as a kiss. When Patrick finally pulled away, he was smiling and flicked the tip of his tongue over his lush lower lip, his hand slipping from Pete’s hair to caress his cheek before he turned his attention to me. 

His blue eyes were dark, almost impossibly so, and the ring of gold around the pupil seemed to nearly glow in the dim light. 

“And you. Having fun, Angel?” Patrick’s voice was light as he stepped between my legs, his fingers trailing over my ribs and over my shoulders, only to drift back down my arms. Carefully taking my left hand in his, he lifted it to his lips, turning to press a kiss against the inside of my wrist. 

“I am, yes. Very much so.” My smile was bright as Patrick dropped my hand, his own going to my hips to pull me closer to the edge of the counter, and I wrapped my legs around his hips as he grinned, leaning in to run his nose over my throat. 

“So you’re really going to marry me, Angel?” 

“If you’ll still have me. You did just walk in on me with another man, after all.” I didn’t hide my smile as my gaze drifted towards Pete who leaned against the shower door with a knowing grin. 

“I’d never have one without the other, Charleigh. You and Pete and I, well, you two are it for me. It may be unconventional, it may be complicated but it is us, and it is perfect.” There was such sweetness in Patrick’s voice that I felt tears prick my eyes and shook my head, forgetting for a moment where I was. 

“Well, then yes, again. I’m fairly certain that is what we were celebrating.” There was a smile in my words, and I got a wink from Pete as Patrick brushed a kiss to my neck before grinning and easing his way down to his knees, glancing up with a rakish smile and wide, faux-innocence in his eyes. “Patrick.”

Pete’s shoulder brushed against mine as he hopped up on the counter beside me, his lips ghosting over my ear. “How quiet can you be, Sweetheart?” Patrick’s hands rested gently on my thighs, his breath warm and teasing against my already sensitive skin. The question was a loaded one and I had to take a moment to get my thoughts under the weight of both brown and blue eyes. Always perceptive, Pete grinned and tapped two fingers gently under my chin. The request, although unspoken, was clear, and I opened my mouth as his fingers slipped between my lips, sucking gently at the same moment that Patrick lowered his head and teased his tongue over the wetness that was already between my thighs. 

My head lolled back and I sucked on Pete’s fingers, muffling the moans that I was trying to hold back. Patrick did not help the situation, his tongue lapping and circling in precise, even strokes, methodical, the same way he did everything. My hands, finally unclenching from the counter, twisted in his hair, soft between my fingers, although I didn’t pull, I just held, rocking my hips to the rhythm. Even after so many months, it never ceased to amaze me the sensations that Patrick could bring about, sometimes with nothing more than a touch or a few words. 

“Look at him, Sweetheart.” Pete’s words were whispered and a moan was stifled against his fingers, already wet, as I glanced down. My fingers were pale against Patrick’s hair, the ring on my finger sparkling in the overhead lights and his eyes cast up behind his glasses through a fringe of lashes and a mess of that was already starting to darken with sweat. He was obscenely beautiful. 

Calloused fingers, familiar and strong, slipped along my skin as he shifted, his eyes going wide as they brushed over the jeweled plug where he expected to find nothing but warm skin. Pulling back with a gasp, Patrick ran a tongue over his bottom lip and shook his head, the smile evident on his face even as I whimpered around Pete’s fingers again. “You two have been busy, hmmm?” Pressing a last kiss against the inside of my thigh, Patrick stood and gave Pete’s wrist a gentle tug, slipping his wet fingers from between my lips. “You up for a bath?” 

“I am up for so much more than that.” I could almost hear the leer in Pete’s words as he hopped off the counter, not at all hiding the fact that he groped Patrick’s cock through his trousers as he made his way towards the tub and fiddled with the taps. 

“You and Pete could absolutely end me, you know that, right?” His voice was quiet as clever fingers flipped open the clasp on my bra and slid it carefully off of my shoulders before trailing, almost excruciatingly slowly, down to release the clips that held my stockings up and guide me down off the counter. “I think I’d like to try something if you would be up for it.” 

“Anything.” There wasn’t a hint of reservation in my voice as I met Patrick’s gaze, intense as always. “Everything.” 

Patrick trailed his hand across my cheek and I turned into the touch, my eyes closing at the tender gesture. “You are amazing, Angel.” His voice was quiet beneath the sound of the tub filling, and I smiled, brushing a kiss to his palm as his free hand drifted to my ass and gave it a pat. “As much fun as I had when we first gave you this lovely little toy, I think I would like to reverse things, as it were.” 

It took me a moment to put what he was asking together and I swallowed thickly as I nodded, carefully working open the buttons on his shirt. “I think I would like that, Sir.” The title was not an accident, and Patrick groaned in his throat casting a quick glance at Pete who stood, naked as the day he was born, in front of the floor to ceiling windows, all golden inked skin against the snow that was still falling. 

“Good Girl.” The words were nearly a growl as Patrick flicked open the fooks on the back of my garter belt, tossing it to the floor beside my bra before hooking his fingers under the waistband of my panties and tugging them low over my hips so they fell around my ankles. “Stockings off for me, Angel, then come meet us at the tub?” The question was gentle, spoken as Patrick set his glasses down carefully on the counter. 

“I will.” My own voice was small, although not unsure, and Patrick pulled me into a sweet, deep kiss, far too brief, before grinning and heading over towards Pete by the tub, the small black and grey bottle in his hand. Returning my attention to the task at hand, I carefully slipped my stockings off, folding them gently before gathering up the rest of my discarded clothes and gently setting them on the counter. They would have to be sent to the cleaners, but that was the least of my concerns right now. 

Turning towards the tub, I stopped cold, my breath caught in my throat. The two men, now both naked, stood before the window, locked in a passionate embrace, Patrick’s pale fingers wound tightly in Pete’s hair as they kissed, passionate and almost desperate. I could hear their sounds from here, small sighs and slight, gasped moans as hands roamed and stroked, teasing in the way only a lover of years would know. 

My steps careful, I perched on the side of the tub, the heat radiating from the water warming my skin, and the cool marble strange as it pushed against the jeweled toy that sat in my ass. “Enjoying the show, Sweetheart?” Pete’s words were easy and low, his smile all bright white teeth and joy glinting in the lights. 

“ I am, very much so.” 

Patrick laughed quietly, nipping at Pete’s throat before pulling away from him, crooking a finger at me as he approached. I stood easily, the sudden movement producing a slight flash of pleasure, and bit back a whimper. “Turn for me, Angel, hands on the side of the tub, please.” 

I complied as quickly as I could, enjoying the slick coolness of the marble beneath my hands, even as steam drifted up from the hot water inside. I let my hands rest easily on the outer portion of the infinity tub, grasping the edge for balance. Patrick pressed tight against me, leaning forward to place a kiss on my neck before trailing his tongue down my spine as his hands gripped my hips. “I’m going to get you ready for me, okay? Tell me if it’s too much.” 

Patrick spoke softly, his words mumbled against my back as I felt his fingers dip between my cheeks to play with the toy, slick fingers sliding under the base to tease against my rim against the steel plug. There was an almost clinical precision to his movements, familiar and thorough with every step. I pulled my lip between my teeth to keep from moaning as the toy was slowly, teasingly pulled out and quickly replaced with two of Patrick’s fingers slippery and wet with lube. 

There was an efficiency to Patrick’s motions, although nothing rote about them; he enjoyed what he was doing and I relished the sensations he drew out of me as his fingers crooked and scissored and worked to open me up, his quiet moan matching my own whimper when his three fingers slipped from me. A gentle kiss against the curve of my ass and he was gone, standing easily before stepping over the side of the tub. 

Patrick settled quickly into the water, humming as he leaned back, all white skin and hard, blood dark prick clasped in his fist. “Come in, Angel, back to me. Once you’re settled, I’ll hold your legs so Pete can join us, alright?” 

I nodded slightly, shaking my hair from my eyes and glancing at Pete, his whiskey eyes trained on Patrick, a small smile pulling at his lips. The water was hot as I stepped over the side of the tub, one foot on either side of Patrick’s knees before I sank into the depths, pausing when Patrick’s hand rested on my hip, guiding me back until I felt the press of his cock against my hole. 

“When you’re ready, Charleigh.” The squeeze to my hip was gentle and I sucked in a breath at the slight pressure. I had gotten very well acquainted with both Patrick and Pete’s cocks in the last few months and appreciated them both, but this was the first time we had been in this position and I would be lying if I said I wasn’t just a bit nervous. “You don’t have to do anything, Angel. “ The words brushed over the back of my neck, rustling my hair, and warm fingers smoothed over my hip in the water. 

Pete’s knees appeared in my line of sight, and I followed his legs upward, over his prick and the black ink that swirled along his skin before I met his gaze, honey eyes swirling with both desire and love that I felt in spades. I moved slowly, a sharp gasp ringing in the air as the head of Patrick’s cock breached my tight ass, the first sharp flash of pain giving way to a slow thrum of pleasure beyond. When I was finally, finally pressed flush against Patrick, his lips warm against my neck as his hands rested on my hips. 

“Fucking Christ, Charleigh.” The curse was low and husky, and fingertips pressed firmly against my skin, the motion promising a series of pretty bruises in the morning. Patrick was bigger than Pete, although not by much, but that difference was absolutely noticeable and I was rigid against Patrick’s chest. “Are you alright?” 

I nodded in lieu of an answer, adjusting my legs just slightly and sending a wave of pleasure through me. 

“That’s our girl.” Pete grinned as he knelt in front of me, wet hands slipping over my ribs. “How do you feel, Sweetheart?” 

I swallowed back another moan as Patrick moved beneath me, my head lolling back onto his shoulder as he smiled against my neck. “I think that means good.” 

“It means very good.” I gasped the words as Patrick rocked his hips, his hands sliding to my thighs. 

“Are you ready for Pete, Angel?” The words were hot and wet, Patrick’s lips soft against the side of my neck. 

“Please.” A single word held more meaning than I could have possibly ever imagined and I could feel Pete’s smile as he met my lips, carefully maneuvering my legs so that Patrick gripped my thighs, and knelt between them, gripping his cock in one hand as he lined up. 

“Go ahead, Pete.” The words were barely a whisper, and I caught a flash of whiskey eyes before Pete pushed forward, slowly, so, so slowly, fighting a groan. 

Time slowed, torturously, as Pete slipped inside me, inch by inch until he couldn’t go any further, and his head dropped to my shoulder, his breath hot and heavy against my damp skin. ‘

“Are you alright?” It wasn’t clear if Patrick was addressing Pete or me, but we both nodded, Pete’s lips warm and his breathing stuttered as I hitched my leg over his hip as best as I could, nearly crying out at the change in angle, the sound only silence as his lips found mine. 

It was intense, more than I had ever thought possible, and my head spun with need, desire and, above all, love as we fell into a rhythm, breath catching, water splashing over the side of the tub and hands gliding over skin slick with water and the salt of sweat, passions increasing with each thrust. Every moan, grasp of fingers or hitch in breath seemed to send us all hurtling forward, closer and closer to that precipice. 

Patrick’s words were whispered hot and filthy against damp skin, demanding, cursing and finally, finally granting a permission I didn’t even know I had been waiting for when my vision went white, electric shocks of pleasure coursing through me like fire through my veins, the strangled cries and stuttering hips signaling both Patrick and Pete were not far behind. 

The world seemed to fall away as the tidal wave of emotions slowly began to ebb and I went limp, falling against Patrick’s chest, his lips against my ear and his voice husky with bitten back cries as he whispered in my ear, just one word over and over, a mantra or a prayer, the reverence in it evident, even as Pete trailed tiny, sweet kisses over my face. “Love.” 

In that moment, in this city of two point eight million people, everything else fell away and there was only us, the little girl sleeping three rooms away and the snow falling outside as it blanketed the city in white.


	46. Chapter Forty Six

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Swimming, shopping and surprise visits....

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like this took me forever to get out, I am so sorry!
> 
> In truth, I am a bit discombobulated from listening to Christmas music for the last three days. The things I do... Seriously though, comments and kudos make the world go round. 
> 
> This has not been betad so all mistakes, and I know there are some, are mine and mine alone. 
> 
> For Flames_And_Jade , because I adore you to bits and pieces. 
> 
> Thank you to SnitchesAndTalkers for being a sounding board, enabler, and cheerleader. You are amazing. 
> 
> Laudanum_Cafe is Sweetie Darling and the best encourager of debauchery. I am fairly certain half of the things you see wouldn't happen were not for her. 
> 
> Thank you to everyone who shares their precious time to read this sprawling tale, I am forever grateful. 
> 
> Aural Satisfaction is The Grand Pas De Deux from The Nutcracker. For reasons. Listen and love. ANd then turn on some spooky, seasonally appropriate music.

The next day, with the storm still raging outside, had been a whirlwind; filled with shopping, snacks and hot chocolate, as requested by Bronte. Although she had packed well for her stay with us, as evidenced by the full suitcase that she had brought, it would seem that someone other than the girl in question had actually chosen what was put into it. Although Patrick had specifically asked Madeline for something appropriate to wear to the ballet, what we got was anything but; layers of froth and sparkle, all wholly inappropriate not only for the weather, but for the pre-teen who would be wearing them, and the same white fur that she had been wearing to her birthday tea had Bronte wrinkling her nose. I knew what it felt like to be a doll, and Bronte was far less willing of one than I ever was, there was too much of her father in her for that. 

Pete, seeing her reaction as she all but upended the contents of the case to find jeans and boots, laughed and declared a shopping trip was in order. For someone who had a near uniform when he worked, the man had an inordinate love for clothes. Bundled up in winter gear, we had spent the day hopping from store to store, not only outfitting our entire small group for the ballet but picking up the basics for a visiting wardrobe for Bronte as well, for the weekends that Patrick was in town and topping off some Christmas shopping.

It was amazing to see the change in Bronte when she was allowed to actually express herself. Although not reserved at all, there was an unabashed joy in her at being able to do something as simple as picking out her own clothes. She was quite particular, again very much like her father, and had a taste for simple, classic pieces, devoid of all of the frippery that seemed to dominate the majority of the items that were packed for her. 

By the time we slogged back to the hotel, exhausted and pink-cheeked from the cold, it had been a very early night, ending with pizza and Rankin-Bass specials that Pete had insisted on. Patrick, trying and failing to hide his smile, indulged him, although watching him sit with Bronte and take in the classic shows, the lights of the city and the small tree glittering in the dark, it was easy to see that maybe, just maybe he was doing this for more than just Pete. 

Christmas Eve day dawned bright and clear, the blue sky stretching on for what seemed like forever beyond the skyline. There was a bit of a reprieve in the weather, at least for the day, which was nice, although there was more snow in the forecast for Christmas which made me a bit happier than it should. 

It had been a lazy morning, sleeping in and room service breakfast, complete with pajamas until nearly noon. Bronte, with no small amount of eyelash batting and begging, had convinced Pete to take her to the pool while Patrick and I stayed in the suite, wrapping gifts and setting them under the tree as Trans Siberian Orchestra played over the television speakers. 

The knock on the door startled us both, and my fingers slipped along the edge of the slick white paper I was currently using to wrap one of Pete’s gifts and I popped the offending digit in my mouth just as blood started to well up on the surface of the stinging, shallow cut. 

“Ten bucks says Pete forgot his key.” Patrick smiled as he pushed up from the table, dropping a kiss on my head as he passed, heading towards the doors. “Forgot your key again did y-” Snagging a tissue to wrap around my bleeding finger, I waited to hear Bronte’s excited chatter; it never came. “Robert. What in the hell are you doing here?” Patrick’s voice had gone from teasing to stone cold and I had to fight a shiver as I heard a voice that was both extremely familiar and entirely unwelcome. 

“You always did lack manners, Patrick. May I come in?” There was nothing but hostility in Senator Duchossois, and although I didn’t hear a reply from Patrick, there was the snick of the door closing and the sound of well-made shoes on marble. As Patrick was still barefoot and in the sleep pants and t-shirt he had slept in, hair mussed from sleep, they were not his. 

He appeared in the doorway of the dining area a moment later, Robert close behind. The older man looked down at me with not at all hidden contempt. “Am I interrupting?” It didn't sound like he actually cared, but I wasn't surprised. Smoothing the placket of the pajamas I was wearing, a pair of Patrick’s that I had somehow acquired, I sat up a bit straighter in my chair. 

“Obviously we were about to fuck on the table before you came in. Let me ask again, what are you doing here, Robert?” Patrick’s tone was dry as he settled in the chair beside me, giving my hand the briefest of squeezes. 

Senator Duchossois, unasked, settled into one of the empty chairs across from Patrick and me and leveled his cold gaze at the both of us. “Somehow, Patrick, I wouldn’t find that hard to believe. I will, however, overlook your lack of manners, once again. Miss Gabriel, you should know better, however. I know you were raised better than that. Your parents would be so disappointed if they knew about this situation you’ve gotten yourself into. Tell me, is there a reason behind this shotgun engagement of yours? Please tell me you aren’t expecting. Then again, would you even know whose it is?” The ease with which the vile words came out of the man’s mouth was almost more unnerving that what he said on its own. I had heard many, many nasty things over the years, it was part and parcel of growing up a politician’s child, but never had I heard such hate directed at me with such unabashed joy. 

“Enough, Robert. You will not address Charleigh again. Your issue is with me, not her. You have five minutes, and I am only allowing that because it would be a hassle to have you removed by security. Now, Why. Are. You. Here?” Patrick spoke slowly, as though talking to a child and Robert was less than amused. 

“I just wanted to let you know that whatever you are playing at will not stand. You are not welcome in Bronte’s life, or ours, in any way and do not for one moment think that you will be allowed to continue playing at whatever it is that you are hoping to get out of this. I have no problem taking this to court, and you know that.” Senator Duchossois leaned back, seemingly unaffected by his threats. 

“Robert, I think you should remember who you are talking to. You may be a Senator, but not everyone bends to your will, threats or not. Bronte is my daughter and I will not be pushed out of her life again. You aren’t the only one with connections in this town. I may not live here but that means very little.” There was an edge to Patrick’s voice that was shockingly hard, one I had never heard before, and I knew that there was nothing in the world short of murder that would keep Patrick from Bronte. 

“Patrick, please. You live in Las Vegas, at what is essentially a sex club. You yourself are little more than a glorified prostitute in a long-term relationship with a man in the same profession and this new sham of an engagement. Tell me, how is that going to look in court, hmm? And staying in a hotel for whatever visitation you have with my granddaughter? Do you honestly think anyone in their right mind would actually encourage you exposing a child to your deviant lifestyle?” 

Patrick’s face was set in stone, although I could see his knuckles whiten as he clenched his hands into fists. “As opposed to an emotionally abusive, manipulating, blackmailing and corrupt politician that uses people like accessories? You kept my child from me, Robert. My. Child. I am more of a parent than you could ever hope to be, and Bronte is of an age where she actually has opinions of her own, ones that will be taken into consideration. Now, get the fuck out, you are not welcome here.” There was no room for argument and the Senator wisely said nothing as he rose, smiling, and headed towards the door. 

“You can be expecting those papers, Patrick. Merry Christmas.” The click of the door through the suite was almost deafening and the silence that followed even more so. 

Patrick’s face was hard, his lips set in a thin line, and it wasn’t until I rested a hand on his shoulder that he let his guard down. He almost crumpled, in fact, at the easy touch, as though he was a marionette whose strings had been cut. His head went to the curve of my neck and his arms wrapped around me as his posture fell and he let out a quiet sigh. It broke my heart a bit, and I gently ran my hands along his back, the material of his shirt soft and soothing beneath my fingers. 

“I know he is wrong, I know it, but hearing that shit… he is not going to back down, Angel, I know him.” There was no resignation in Patrick’s voice, but rather a soft determination, despite how upset I knew he was. “I’ll fight him with everything I have, and I know Pete will back me up on this. If you-”

“Patrick. I’m not going anywhere, I grew up in this world, remember? I know him, far better than I would ever care to admit. We will get through this, all of us. I promise.” My words were quiet, murmured against Patrick’s head, but there was nothing but the truth behind them and I could feel Patrick’s lips curve up into the slightest of smiles against my neck. 

“Thank you, Angel. I know this isn’t what you signed on for but-”

“Stop. I love you, Patrick. I love Pete and I love Bronte. That is what I signed on for, and that is exactly what I intend on sticking with, so enough with this. There will be plenty of time to talk and plan after Bronte goes back to Madeline’s. Let’s just focus on the next twenty-four hours, okay? It will be okay.” It felt strange almost, to be the one reassuring Patrick, but it was nothing but right in the same moment.

Straightening up, Patrick smiled softly and tucked my hair behind my ear, brushing a kiss against my cheek. “Thank you, Angel. I don’t know what I did to deserve you but I-”

“Dad, Dad! CJ! Papa Pete says we can start getting ready for the ballet now!” Whatever Patrick had been about to say was cut off as Bronte came dashing in the room, a robe covering her swimsuit and her long loose and dark from swimming. Pete was not far behind her, smiling with a towel slung over his shoulders and still damp from the pool. His smile, however, faded a bit as he took the two of us in, but he managed to hold back any questions, for the moment at least. 

Pulling away and turning his attention to Bronte, the last of the worry dropped away from Patrick’s face and was replaced by a bright grin. “I suppose that we can, kiddo. Why don’t you go get cleaned up and then call Charleigh when you are good to start with your hair, okay?” 

“Alright, Dad!” Bronte beamed, bouncing over to hug Patrick and me in turn before dashing back to her room to take a shower. The preteen left a whirlwind of energy in her wake and Pete plopped down in the chair on Patrick’s other side with a small smile. 

 

“That kid is something else, Trick. Now, I don’t know what I walked in on, but there is obviously something going on. Let’s start cleaning up and you can fill me in then, okay?” Pete seemed almost uncharacteristically level-headed as he mussed Patrick’s hair, but there was something in his eyes that belied his carefree attitude. Patrick, for his part, simply nodded and stood, tugging both Pete and I behind him towards the master bedroom with a resigned sigh. This was not going to be fun, but it had to be told. Once the door was closed and locked, Patrick sighed and ran a hand through his already disheveled hair. 

“So, Robert came by while you and Bronte were at the pool.”

 

Four hours and many, many exclamations from Pete about Senator Duchossois later, I was still in my pajamas standing behind Bronte as I put the finishing touches on her hair, flipping the curling iron off and adjusting scattering of pins that held her thick, red hair back from her face. It cascaded down her back in gentle curls, half of it caught up in a delicately sparkling barrette and standing out starkly against the cranberry velvet of her dress. It was one she had picked out herself, slightly puffed sleeves and a row of beautifully stitched lace decorating the tea length hem. White tights and a pair of shining black shoes, with the slightest of heels, finished her ensemble proper, although the bracelet that Patrick had given her for her birthday shone on her left wrist, and a pair of small diamond studs, procured from my own travel jewelry box sparkled in her ears. 

“Do I look alright, CJ?” The nickname still made me smile each time it was used. Bronte had, in the infinite wisdom that only a newly twelve-year-old could have, had decided Miss Charleigh was far too formal for me and had begged my middle name, bestowing the moniker on me with a bright grin. 

“You look beautiful, Bronte.” The words were nothing but true and the girl nearly squealed as threw her arms around my neck for a hug. 

“Thank you so much for your help. And for the tickets to the ballet, it’s one of my favorite presents ever.” It warmed my heart to hear, and I couldn't help but embrace the girl, pushing away all the thoughts of the earlier unpleasantries with her grandfather. 

“You are very welcome. I think I may be just as excited as you are to see this if I am honest. One of my friends is dancing and I haven’t seen her in a long time. I think she may be willing to say hello after the performance if you’d like.” 

Bronte’s eyes went wide and she nearly bounced as she made her way to the desk in the corner of her room and flipping open the book that sat carefully on the corner. “I would love that. I’m going to read until we have to leave if that’s okay? Minnie May is sick and Anne is rushing through the woods to help her and I have to find out what happens with her and Diana.” There was an almost morbid seriousness to Bronte’s tone, a testament to how invested she was in the book in her hand. I couldn’t help but smile at her excitement, in fact, I recalled it quite well from my first time reading the same series when I was her age. 

“Of course that is okay. We will absolutely have to talk about it later, that is one of my favorite parts.” 

Bronte grinned, sliding her glasses on and gave me a quick wave as she turned her attention back to her book, losing herself in its world. I closed the door carefully as I left, making my way back to the master suite quickly to start getting ready. Although I had showered and twisted my hair into rollers, I was not even remotely close to leaving. 

Fortunately, I worked quickly and within forty-five minutes, I was made up and my hair was pinned carefully into a low, loose chignon as I slipped out of my robe and headed into the bedroom. Pete and Patrick were both nearly finished, themselves, adjusting ties and fastening suspenders as I perched on the bed to fasten the silver straps on my heels. Utterly ridiculous for the weather, but they gave me the height I needed so my dress wouldn’t drag on the ground. 

“Sweetheart, are you forgetting something?” Pete sounded genuinely befuddled and I glanced up as I slipped the thin silver leather through its clasp, securing it tightly. My fingers brushed my earrings, necklace and the bracelet at my wrist before I shook my head, slightly confused. 

“Not that I’m aware of, my dress is in the closet.” Pushing up from the bed, I headed in that direction, only to have Pete wrap his hand around my wrist and pull me in for a quick kiss as Patrick laughed while tipping his hat. 

“No pretty lace and silk tonight?” Pouting just slightly, although his eyes gleamed with amusement, Pete played at petulance. 

“Not with this dress, no. It’s not exactly constructed for much underneath.” The thin scrap of lace that masqueraded as panties was all I could get away with and although it may not have been what he was hoping for, he seemed placated for the moment, and I could almost see the thoughts swirling in his head. 

Laughing, I ducked into the closet and retrieved my gown. It was one of Ashley’s designs, and even off the rack, her work was amazing. Made of intricately pleated crimson tulle and lace, the garment hand an almost ethereal quality that clung to my curves and flowed to nearly brush the floor. Slipping it carefully over my head, I adjusted the straps and headed back out, the back still open; it was not a dress that could be fastened alone. 

Patrick, a smile on his face, brushed his hands over my shoulders and slid the zipper up easily, pressing a kiss to the nape of my neck. “Gorgeous, Angel.” The compliment was a whisper, but genuine, and I couldn’t help the light blush that it inspired and Pete laughed as he shrugged his black wool coat over his tuxedo, the deep green of his tie and pocket square standing out against the black of the rest of his ensemble which matched Patrick's save for the color of the accessories. Patrick's tie, suspenders and pocket square were all a deep cranberry to match Bronte's dress. 

“You two are so fucking pretty I can’t stand it. If we weren’t about to go out for an evening with a twelve-year-old I would-”

“Point taken, Peter.” There was the slightest hint of a warning in Patrick’s voice and he held out my coat for me as I checked my small bag, tickets, lipstick, and phone all tucked into its small depths. Grinning, I shrugged into the warm wool, fastening it tight and relishing in the cool slip of the satin lining against my skin. 

Pete just grinned and whisked open the bedroom door to reveal Bronte, already in her own ivory coat reading at the table, glasses perched on her nose. 

“You ready to go, Sunshine?” The question got a blinding grin, and Bronte closed her book with the utmost care before nearly skipping to the door. 

“Papa Pete, I have been ready for a half an hour. Dad said if I had to wait it was your fault.” The words were delivered with a casual innocence of the young and the warm, resounding sound of laughter filled the air, chasing away any lingering negativity as we all prepared to head out into the cold Chicago night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm AllKindsOfPlatinumAndPercocet on tumblr if you want to stop and say hi!


	47. Chapter Forty-seven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Big days in Chicago

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, it has been forever, sorry about that. These folks just would not cooperate. BUT I finally managed to update and, although it is a bit brief, I am pretty sure it is important. 
> 
> Kudos and comments make the world go around, especially on chapters like this when the author is PARALYZED WITH FEAR about what is being put out. Press that little button, yeah? 
> 
> This has not been betaed and is, more likely than not, sporting several mistakes. I take credit for them all. 
> 
> I took more than a bit of artistic license here; suspend disbelief with me, pretty please? 
> 
> This is, as always, for the amazing Flames_And_Jade. I love you my dear, you make the world a better place. 
> 
> Thanks and endless bottles of the alcohol of her choice (And maybe van days Patrick) go out to SnitchesAndTalkers for hours of handholding, cheerleading and inspiration as well as early morning humor. Thank you so much.
> 
> Love, laughs and stoli to the amazing Laudanum_Cafe for being an absolute fucking delight. You keep things light when I want to cry and never fail to make me smile just by being you. Thank you for loving these crazy cats. 
> 
> Much thanks and respect to everyone who takes the time out of their life to read this story, I appreciate you more than I can say. 
> 
> Aural Pleasure: 'Into The Mystic' by Van Morrison

The ballet was beautiful, as was Christmas afterward. Despite the specter of Robert’s threats, and they very much were exactly that, hanging over the festivities, Bronte’s presence and the sheer joy that she brought, not only to Patrick but to all three of us, managed to make that fade into the either. It was only once the pre-teen was gone, Madeline arriving to pick her up with an uncharacteristic apology, that the worry seemed to settle over the suite again, and it did, in an almost palpable way. It was Pete, in faded black jeans and a faded band shirt, the epitome of Christmas spirit, that actually came up with the beginning of a solution, as he flipped through the copy of ‘Anne Of Green Gables’ that Bronte had left. ‘Go to the county clerk, get a marriage license and head to marriage court, start looking for houses. Bob literally won’t be able to say dick.” 

The idea had been tossed off so casually that it had almost seemed like a joke, but there had been an undercurrent of determination in Pete’s voice that belied any humor. He was, just as much as Patrick and I, invested in this relationship, however unusual it may have been, and he loved Bronte like she was his own. It was such a simple idea, and so out of left field, that it actually made sense. Sometimes, especially when there were feelings involved, Patrick tended to think zebras and not horses. 

And that was that. A trip to the city clerk was made, complete with Pete grinning like a fool the entire time, and then shopping trips, both separate and together were made, for rings and, in my case, something white. As much as I had tried to fight it, and honestly I had, when Pete and Patrick both asked, I couldn’t say no, not ever. 

New Year’s day dawned bright and clear, the knock on the hotel door beating the alarm clocks that had been set. Brandon, the butler stood on the other side with a beaming Bronte, already dressed for what little ceremony there would be, her navy dress and black tights obviously of her own choosing. She nearly bounced as she made her way to what had quickly become ‘her’ room, book in hand to settle on the comfortable bed and read until it was time to go. The door closed with a pointed click, and I couldn’t help but smile as I made my way back into the master bedroom, shaking my head at the two men that were still tangled in the sheets. 

“Whassat?” Patrick’s voice was heavy and thick with sleep, his hair mused as he squinted up at me from the pile of bedding and Pete that had worked his arms around him. 

“Bronte is here for the day.” I couldn’t hide the tremor in my voice, and I didn’t even try, pulling my lip between my teeth and watching as realization slowly dawned on his beautifully sleepy face.

“Oh. Oh! That’s.. We should get up. Is there coffee?” He seemed almost surprised at the questions, as though he wasn’t awake enough to form words. 

Laughing, I perched on the edge of the bed, stretching to kiss both his and Pete’s heads, what I could reach of it anyway. “I’ve ordered some to be sent up, yes, along with breakfast. Bronte is reading in her room.” 

“You’re an angel, you know that?” There was a sweetness to Patrick’s words as he gently took my hand, pressing a kiss to my wrist, just below the gleaming bracelet he had locked there. 

“You may have said something about that a time or two, I think. And thank you. I’m going to start getting ready, I think. Unless you don’t want-”

“So help me, Sweetheart, if you ask if he doesn’t want to marry you, you are going over my knee, and not in a good way. At least not at first.” Pete’s voice was husky and thick, a testament to his impromptu bachelor party for Patrick last night which mostly consisted of exceptionally enthusiastic shower sex and a change of sheets while I had a bath in the spare room and finished up some reading that had been in my luggage for far too long. The words were light, accompanied by a sleepy smile as Pete peeked up from his pillow, his skin golden against the crisp white linen. 

“I won’t, I promise. But I am going to start getting ready. Bronte seems fairly content to try and finish her book, so I think there is plenty of time to get up and out. I’m going to use her shower though, so you all can have this one free.” I was nervous and it no doubt showed in my voice, but I also knew that at the same time, there was nothing to be nervous about, not in the slightest. 

“Of course, Angel. Go and do whatever you need. We’ll get breakfast and coffee.” Patrick sounded slightly less confused, but not at all awake; that would take at least a cup and a half of coffee to be sure. 

“Thank you.” My words were quiet but genuine as I ducked towards the bathroom to grab my toiletries and robe; I was already wearing one of Pete’s button downs over my pajama pants, so I didn’t need much else.

“Hey, Sweetheart?” The question rang in the air just as I was about to leave the bedroom, but I popped my head around the doorframe with a hum, to find Pete sitting up in bed, his hair sticking up every which way. “We love you.” It was a simple statement, although one that was heavy with meaning, especially today, and I returned Pete’s smile with one of my own. 

“I love you too, both of you.” My words were soft and honest, but they rang with truth, and the smiles that I received were absolute light. Waving my fingers, I slipped out of the room and headed to knock gently on Bronte’s door, although it swung open after the first gentle tap. 

“Come on in, CJ.” The pre-teen was absolutely beaming as she hopped back up on the bed, her book discarded. 

“Do you mind if I use your bathroom? I’ll be quick, I promise.” I balanced my toiletries, robe, and hairdryer in my arms and Bronte rolled her eyes with a laugh, looking for all the world like her father in miniature. 

“Of course not. I know Dad and Papa can take forever. No need to rush, I’m just getting to the best part.” Raising the book to me, I had to smile at the obviously enjoyed novel, a scrap of white ribbon marking her place. “Papa said he is going to read it when I’m done.” 

Laughing, I shake my head knowing very well that Pete meant it. “That sounds great, Sunshine. And thank you. I promise I will be out of your hair soon enough.” 

“You’re fine, promise,” Bronte spoke with a smile, warm and sweet, waving before returning her full attention to Anne and company while I made my way to the bathroom to start getting ready. 

It didn’t feel like any time at all had passed when I was carefully sliding an antique hairpin, a Christmas gift from Patrick, into my low braided chignon at the base of my neck, the last thing I needed to be ready aside from my shoes and coat. My purse, coat, and shoes all hung in the foyer, and I could feel the cool marble through my thin stockings as I took a last look in the mirror. The dress wasn’t anything fancy, although it was lovely; a long-sleeved white sheath that ended just below my knees; no beading or bows, the opposite of almost everything I had imagined on those rare occasions I had dared think of this day when I was a little girl. Aside from the hairpin, diamond studs sparkled in my ears and at my wrist and hand, all items I wore every day. My only other concession was the necklace that glinted at my throat; a double length of delicate white gold chain that held three small circles, the cuff that graced Pete’s wrist in miniature, one white gold, one dark black ceramic and one twinkling with tiny diamonds. 

It had been Pete’s Christmas gift to me and had almost immediately brought tears to my eyes. It was far more than just a necklace, in the same way that the bangle that hung on my left wrist was more than a bracelet. My fingers brushed over the cool metal, lingering there for the briefest of moments before I returned my attention to my reflection for a last check. Aside from the lock of hair that seemed to be forever slipping free from the confines of whatever I was attempting to pull it back with, I was as ready as I was ever going to be. Spritzing a bit of perfume on my wrists, I was heading towards the bedroom when I heard Patrick’s voice, and it was not at all pleasant. 

“God fucking damn it, this piece of shit.” There was undisguised anger in his tone, but it was something more than that as well, and I couldn’t quite put my finger on what. Patrick was yanking on his tie, throwing the offending length of blue silk at the bed, where Pete was sat, smiling as he retrieved it. Leaning against the bathroom door, I watched both of the men in the other room in silence. 

“Deep breaths, Trick. I promise the tie isn’t defective.” Pete’s voice was gentle and kind as he stood, tie in hand, to stand in front of a red-faced Patrick. Both men were predominantly in black, as was their wont, but where Patrick had a blue tie and black shirt, Pete was wearing the opposite, and his fingers seemed to nearly glow against the dark cotton of Patrick’s shirt as he flipped up the collar and slid the tie in place, nimble fingers executing a perfect knot before smoothing the collar back down and tightening it just so. Patrick’s eyes were closed, his hands hanging at his sides while the other man worked, although when Pete leaned in for a kiss after he was finished, they rested on Pete’s waist and I could see the briefest smile on his lips. 

“Thank you. I just- I’m a little more nervous than I thought, I guess? Even though I know good and well there is nothing to be nervous about.” Pale fingers raked through red-gold hair, mussing it just before a black fedora was set on on Patrick’s head, Pete grinning fit to burst. 

“You’re about to get married, Trick, you have to be at least a little nervous or you wouldn’t be human.” The words were carefully measured as Pete stepped back, tweaking one of Patrick’s suspenders. 

“Peter, you don’t even believe in marriage.” There was a hint of laughter in Patrick’s words, and Pete’s grin as he shrugged on his suit jacket was almost blinding. 

“Touche, Patrick. And I may not believe in it for me, but you and Charleigh are another story entirely. Isn’t that right, Sweetheart?” Two sets of eyes, one baby blue and surprised, the other a twinkling brown turned to me and I could feel an uncharacteristic blush rise to my cheeks. 

“If you say so, Pete.” Pete’s laughter, loud and braying, rang through the air as he crossed the bedroom to pull me into a warm embrace. 

“That’s our good girl.” He muttered against my hair, fingers carefully brushing the errant lock back before catching my lips in a sweet, almost chaste kiss. “You look stunning, Sweetheart.” 

“Thank you.” There wasn’t much more to say than that, and I blamed nerves, although rightfully so, or I thought. 

“Beautiful.” Patrick’s word of praise was just loud enough to be heard and Pete laughed as he dropped his arms, letting me free from his embrace and stepping back to gesture at Patrick who was buttoning his suit jacket. 

“A man of few words, but they count. Come on, Lovebirds, let’s go get Bronte and get this show on the road. Traffic is going to be a bitch and I don’t really want to deal with being arrested today, I have plans.” Pete was laughing as he made his way into the living room, Patrick stepping back so I could follow. 

“You really want to do this, Angel? Are you sure?” There was an uncertainty in Patrick’s words that made my heart catch just the slightest bit, and I paused, resting my hand on his cheek and meeting his eyes, worried behind his glasses.

“I’ve never been surer of anything in my life, Sir.” The title was used quite purposefully, and I saw Patrick’s full lips twitch into a grin, a bit of the nervousness seeming to melt away. 

“Thank you, Charleigh.” Patrick nearly whispered, moving just a bit closer and leaning down for a kiss, when a very familiar voice echoed through the suite, dripping with laughter. 

“Dad! You are already breaking all of the traditions, hold off for a bit, would you?” Bronte was sitting on the piano bench, the yellow lacquer bright against her black coat as she let her fingers dance across the keys. Patrick laughed quietly, sliding a thumb gently over my cheekbone as he moved to let me pass. 

“The boss has spoken. Thank you, B.” He was laughing, although not quite as boisterously as Pete, but Bronte definitely managed to lighten the mood, as always. Shaking my head with a smile of my own, I settled on the couch and slipped into my shoes, two-toned pale blue and dove grey things that I was absurdly fond of; there was a shining 2017 penny in the toe of the right shoe, no doubt placed there by a certain red-headed pre-teen. They had been a last minute impulse buy, but as I fastened the buckle on the ankle strap and stood up, smoothing my skirt, I was thankful for the decision.

“Old, new, blue… What’s borrowed, CJ?” Bronte’s voice was serious and her gaze appraising as she looked me over. 

“I don’t think I have anything borrow-” My words trailed off as Bronte hopped up and dashed into her room as I glanced between Pete and Patrick, both shrugging on their coats and looking equally as perplexed. 

She was only gone for a minute before she stopped in front of me, her face determined. “Give me your right hand?” As much as it was a request, it really wasn’t at the same time, and I complied. Tears pricked at my eyes as she wrapped a length of white silk ribbon, her bookmark if I remember correctly, around my wrist, tongue poking out from the corner of her mouth as she focused on tying it into a small bow. “There. Now we can go.” 

I blinked away the tears and pulled the girl into a warm hug as Patrick and Pete just laughed, although I was certain I was not the only one nearly crying. “Thank you, Bronte, that is so sweet of you.” 

The smile I received in response was absolutely blinding, a carbon copy of her father’s at this exact moment. “You’re welcome, CJ. Now come on, get your coat and let’s go! Papa has plans.” Confused once again, I simply followed the eager girl towards Patrick who held out my coat with a smile that likely matched mine. 

“I don’t know either, but it’s Pete.” Patrick’s words were resigned but there was the conviction of nearly a lifetime behind his words, and I carefully buttoned my coat and gathered my purse; there was nothing else that I could say to that, and I let myself be whisked out of the suite, Bronte and Pete both chattering the whole way. 

“Pete, you missed the turn. Where are you going?” Patrick sounded somewhat concerned as Pete navigated through the morning Chicago traffic which, despite being heavy was still lighter than usual so I was told, and Bronte just laughed from the passenger seat. 

“Stick with me kid and you’ll find out.” The reply was laced with laughter, and I made a note to ask about it later as Patrick shook his head and relaxed back into his seat beside me. 

“You’re a menace, Peter.” There was only a suggestion of seriousness to the words and Pete was grinning as he turned up the music and maneuvered through the streets, singing both loudly and off-key with Bronte as he effectively ended any and all further questions for the duration of the drive. 

‘You’ll find out’ turned out to be the Chicago Cultural Center, and Patrick just blinked as we pulled into a parking spot, Bronte beaming back at her father. 

“Pete, how did you manage-” Once again, he was cut off by the shake of a head. 

“Now is not the time for questions, Pattycakes. Get a move on and get inside, the judge is waiting.” Pete seemed, if possible, more excitable than usual as he and Bronte lead the way for Patrick and me through an expansive, beautifully decorated great hall to a set of smaller wooden doors before he stopped, turning on the two of us with a grin. “Smile. Breathe. I love you.” The words were whispered just loud enough for us to hear, although judging by Bronte’s sly smile, she had picked up on them as well. 

Wooden doors were opened with a flourish to reveal a stately looking gentleman with very, very familiar brown eyes and a bright smile standing by an ivy-covered arch. Patrick paled, almost visibly at the sight, and the man laughed, the sound familiar. “Good morning, Patrick. It’s always good to see you. Miss Gabriel, Bronte, it’s a pleasure.”

“Peter, thank you. I didn’t expect-wow.” Patrick stumbled slightly over his words, and Pete just beamed, ushering us closer to the man who was, I assumed, his father, Bronte trailing behind him. There was a flash from somewhere off to our side, and a lovely woman, with rich caramel skin and a contagious smile, lowered a camera. “And Dale, it’s so good to see you.” 

“You too Patrick. Now hush and pay attention.” Dale scolded playfully in that way that only a mother could, and Patrick’s cheeks went pink as he took my hand and we both turned our attention to the elder Wentz, While Pete and Bronte stood just behind us. 

Peter smiled, nodding at his wife before turning his attention back to Patrick and me. “Good morning and welcome. It is an honor to be here today, truly. I was informed, in not so many words, that you both wanted something simple, so if you could repeat after me. ‘I Patrick, Take you, Charleigh, to be none other than yourself. I promise to stand by your side; to encourage you, and be open and honest with you; to laugh with you, and cry with you; To always love and honor you; both freed and bound by our love, for as long as we both shall live.’” 

Patrick’s voice wavered only slightly as he reached for the ring that Pete held out, my hand still resting gently in his, his eyes darting to Pete for the briefest of moments as he spoke. “I Patrick, Take you, Charleigh, to be none other than yourself. I promise to stand by your side; to encourage you, and be open and honest with you; to laugh with you, and cry with you; To always love and honor you; both freed and bound by our love, for as long as we both shall live.”  
As Patrick’s voice trailed off, I could feel the cool slip of metal over my skin as he slid my wedding band into place and I fought the tears that stung my eyes, and not from the flash of the camera as Pete’s mother snapped away. 

“Wonderful. Now Charleigh, if you could repeat after me as well. ‘I Charleigh, take you, Patrick, to be none other than yourself. I promise to stand by your side; to encourage you, and be open and honest with you; to laugh with you, and cry with you; To always love and honor you; both freed and bound by our love, for as long as we both shall live.’” 

I took a shaking breath, smiling as Pete pressed Patrick’s ring into my hand, his whispered ‘I love you’ loud enough only for Patrick and my ears. Catching Pete’s warm, brown eyes for an instant, I smiled, dipping my head in a small nod, before turning my attention to Patrick. “I Charleigh, take you, Patrick, to be none other than yourself. I promise to stand by your side; to encourage you, and be open and honest with you; to laugh with you, and cry with you; To always love and honor you; both freed and bound by our love, for as long as we both shall live.” Sliding the ring on Patrick’s finger as I spoke, my voice broke and a tear slipped down over my cheek just as Dale’s camera flashed, and he took my hands in mine. 

Peter’s smile was wide, although there was the slightest tremor in his words as he cleared his throat. “Thank you, both. By the power instilled in me by the great state of Illinois, I now pronounce you husband and wife. Son, you may kiss your bride.” 

Despite the small crowd, the applause and cheers were almost deafening as Patrick drew me in for a kiss, sweet and tender, with an unspoken promise behind it, his fingers gently brushing away my tears just seconds before Pete nearly threw himself on us, one arm over my shoulders and one over Patrick’s, his voice quiet. “All of that. Every bit. Both of you.” The moment, the entire ceremony was perfect. There were no bells and whistles; no pomp and circumstance, and a distinctive lack of any of the hallmarks of what ‘should’ have been a traditional wedding, but in that moment, shifted almost easily between Pete and Patrick in a shared embrace, with Bronte and a set of loving parents watching on, I could have never imagined anything being any more perfect.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Like it? Hate it? Other? Come chat at AllKindsOfPlatinumAndPercocet on tumblr. I don't bite.


	48. Chapter Forty Eight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which I attempt to clarify missing time because I am an asshole.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise I didn't forget about this fic, I just had a serious block on it for some reason. These kinksters REFUSED to cooperate. I finally got them in line though and it only took an entire damn month. Sorry, Y'all, seriously. 
> 
> Kudos, comments, and questions make the world go round. Seriously, feedback can absolutely make a writer's day. 
> 
> This has not been beta'd, as per usual. Grammarly is my friend. 
> 
> As always, this is for Flames_And_Jade because she is absolutely magical. 
> 
> Thanks and endless afternoon tea to SnitchesAndTalkers for the handholding, support, and endless cheerleading, even when I didn't deserve it. 
> 
> Laudanum_Cafe is the Patsy to my Saffy, only I love her more. Truly. Like... Eddy and Lacroix level love. THAT is THE REAL SHIT. 
> 
> Thank you so very much to everyone who takes the time out of their day to keep up with this (Not so)little tale, it means more to me than I can possibly say. I hope you all enjoy. 
> 
> Aural Pleasure: 'Death If A Bachelor' by Panic! At The Disco I am not at all sorry.

Forty-five days. I had been married for forty-five days. It seemed oddly surreal, in the strangest of ways. Nothing had changed, not really, and yet at the same time, everything had. Leaning my head back against the curve of the tub, I lifted my hand from beneath the froth of bubbles, an indulgence that Pete had nearly insisted on, and smiled as the lights glinted off of the rings on my left hand. They weren’t flashy or ornate, in any way, and I am sure, if my mother knew about them, she would cringe. But, well, she didn’t and I honestly didn’t know when she would, or even if it would happen at all. We had spoken, albeit very briefly, at Christmas, and I had sent gifts, as always. They had done the same, there was a stack of packages waiting at the desk of my apartment building when we had gotten home from Chicago, but that was it, really. No small talk, or large talk, as it were, nothing else. 

Dale and Peter had been lovely and unfailingly supportive despite any reservations that they may have possibly had about our relationship. It was understandable, I’m sure, from their perspective, but there was not a single moment of doubt, nor disapproval, even when we all met for brunch the next day at the Wentz’s house complete with Bronte, and a shining white gold band that matched Patrick’s was resting on Pete’s ring finger. Patricia was very much the same way, embracing me warmly before turning to her son, son-in-law, and granddaughter, with tears in her eyes. “As long as you are all happy.” 

The words echoed in my mind now, bubbles gone and the water slipping down the tub drain as I dried off, the lights of the Vegas strip below glowing garishly, seemingly more red than usual in a concession to the holiday. Tugging on one of Pete’s old shirts and a pair of Patrick’s pajama pants, tugging the clip from my hair to let my short braid fall down my back as I crossed the room, settling on the bed beside Pete. 

“Good bath, Sweetheart?” Pete was smiling as he closed his book, the corners of his eyes crinkling behind the glasses that he only wore to read. I hummed, tucking my legs beneath me and reached out to twine my fingers with his, watching the metal of our rings glint in the low lights. 

“Penny for your thoughts?” The book was set aside as Pete turned his attention to me, his eyes crystal clear and concerned behind the lenses that he hated. 

“Are you happy?” I hadn’t planned on being quite so blunt, but there it was. The words had tumbled out before I could stop them, my cheeks going warm even as strong fingers gave mine a gentle squeeze. 

“Happier than I could have ever imagined. Happier than I probably deserve, if I’m honest.” Pete was nothing if not honest; he never did anything by halves. Raising our joined fingers to his lips, he pressed a kiss against the back of my hand before letting it go and gently lifting me to settle on his lap. I leaned into him easily, resting my head on his shoulder with a soft sigh. “You want to talk about it?”

“I’m alright, just thinking is all.” My words were simple but true and I could feel Pete’s smile against my head. 

“As long as you are okay, Charleigh. Of all the things there are to doubt in this world, my love for both you and Patrick is the last thing you have to question. I don’t deserve either of you and yet, by some fucking miracle of the universe, I am lucky enough to have you both.” Pete’s free hand wandered as he spoke, slipping beneath the hem of my shirt to trail along my lower back. 

“I miss him.” I sounded petulant, and I probably was, more than a little, no doubt because of the holiday. Then again, Patrick had been gone for nearly two weeks, in Wilmette closing on and furnishing his new house. It was lovely in every aspect, he had sent pictures at every point, many of them featuring Bronte, but still. I had been scheduled to go with him but a lovely double ear infection and bout of bronchitis had grounded me. It was finally gone, and I was getting antsy, as was Pete. There were only a few days left before Patrick’s flight back home, as it were and if both Pete and I were counting the days over morning coffee, well, neither of us happened to say anything. 

“Me too, Sweetheart, me too,” Pete spoke softly, his breath warm against my hair as his fingers traced idly along my lower back. Sighing softly, I leaned into his touch, my own hands slipping over the wear-soft fabric of his t-shirt before tilting my head to press a gentle kiss against the stubble along his jaw. “That feels like heaven.” The words were spoken with just the faintest suggestion of a groan and I smiled, pleased with the reaction. Shifting slightly, I repeated the movement, and Pete’s free hand slipped to grip my hip, giving a light squeeze. “Charleigh, are you being a tease?” I could hear the undercurrent of want in his voice, and I smiled, my lips still pressed against his skin. 

“Not intentionally.” It was honest, although not entirely thought through and Pete let the hand that was under the back of my shirt travel around to ghost over my ribs, his fingers warm and rough against my skin. 

“You know my thoughts on teasing, Sweetheart.” Pete’s hand ghosted from my hip up to tangle in my hair, slipping in the strands of my braid to pull my head back and meet my gaze. His whiskey eyes burned warm with a familiar desire, and I flicked my tongue out just slightly to moisten my lips. 

“I don’t remember saying anything about not following thr-” My words died off on a gasp as Pete crashed his lips to mine in a heated kiss. Between work schedules, being sick and trying to fit in skype calls with Patrick while he was miles away, well, there were some things that had to fall by the wayside. All of that, however, melted away as I lost myself in Pete’s kiss. Hungry and familiar, my hands wandered, tugging at Pete’s shirt and I pulled my lips from his just long enough to yank the garment off over his head and throw it absently away before I returned my lips to his skin, this time to trace along the dark lines of the thorns that were inked into his skin. Sweet kisses were interspersed with tiny nips and teases of my tongue, drawing moans that I could feel reverberating in his throat. 

“Jesus Christ, Sweetheart.” Pete's fingers tugged at my hair, loosening the braid but not pulling it out as he guided my lips back to his while his other hand slipped below the waistband of my pajama pants with ease to curve over my ass. “You’re gonna b-” 

The familiar chirp of an incoming Skype call pierced the air and I squeaked pulling away from Pete more than a little reluctantly as he laughed, tweaking the end of my braid before rising to answer the call from the laptop that sat on the nightstand. Patrick’s face filled the screen, eyes clear and smile bright as he mussed his shower darkened hair. 

“Trick has anyone ever told you that you have impeccable timing?” Pete grinned as he spoke, his eyes twinkling as he sat back on the bed after adjusting the laptop. 

“You know, I have heard that a time or two, actually. I’m not interrupting anything am I?” Although there was an air of innocence in Patrick’s voice, his smirk gave him away, and I couldn’t fight my absolutely unnecessary blush as I settled back on the bed beside Pete, smoothing the hem of my shirt. 

“Not at all. How’s Illinois?” As much as I tried to divert the attention, I never was very good at it. It didn’t help that Pete seemed especially keen on teasing me, his hand slipping back below my shirt. 

“Well hi, Angel. And it is cold and lonely. Bronte is back with Madeline for the week, but we had a great weekend. You should see her room, she is so excited.” The joy in Patrick’s voice when he talked about his daughter was evident, his whole face seeming to light up. 

Pete, never one to let anything go, smiled brightly, almost overly so, his eyes twinkling with mischief. “Hopefully we can all get out there soon. And do not listen to Charleigh, her pants are on fire. You absolutely did interrupt. We were very happily fooling around. We miss you here you know.” 

Patrick laughed, clear even through the laptop, and shook his head. “That much is obvious, I just figured I would ask anyway. Charleigh’s hair's a wreck and I can see your goddamn dick from here. I’m glad you are feeling better though, Angel. You had me worried.” There was a gentleness to the last words that brought a smile to my face, although the sweet tone quickly turned low and engaging. “Don’t let me stop you, by all means.” 

Pete nuzzled against my neck, his fingers working back under my shirt. “You know I wouldn’t Trick. I am far too invested for that. “ I could feel the smile against my skin as Pete’s lips traveled to my ear, whispering just low enough that Patrick couldn’t hear. “Shall we make our boy ridiculously happy, Sweetheart?” The words were accompanied by fingers sliding back beneath my shirt to tease, once again, across bath warmed skin. 

I didn’t answer aloud, turning to meet Pete’s lips in a sweet kiss, my whispered ‘yes’ slipping out on a single breath before I pulled back, trailing my fingers along his cheek before returning my attention to Patrick ‘s face on the laptop. 

“Invested, hmm? Care to elaborate, Peter?” There was a note of teasing in Patrick’s voice as he shifted, no doubt balancing his laptop on his knees as he rested his back against the arm of the couch. 

“Not particularly.” Pete’s words were nothing but mirth as his hands wandered, slipping under my shirt to tease along my ribs. “I’m more interested in you right now. We really fucking miss you, Trick.” There was an open longing behind the words, one that was reflected in Patrick’s eyes even through the pixelated screen. 

“I really fucking miss you too, I’ll be home in a week, I think. I’m pretty sure that we can make it at least that long. We’ll have to go out and have a bit of a belated celebration once I get back. Anywhere you two want.” There was the slightest tinge of sadness to Patrick’s words, no doubt due to the fact that leaving Illinois, even though it meant coming home, also meant leaving Bronte. 

“I think we can stay in and have a celebration instead. It would be much more enjoyable.” Pete was nothing if not blunt, and I couldn’t help but smile as his lips brushed against my neck again. “Tell me, Trick, what exactly did you have in mind for your celebration? You know, leaving your wife alone on your first Valentine’s Day requires some serious making up.” 

Patrick chuckled, shaking his head. “Peter, you are an instigator. First of all, I didn’t leave her on purpose, in case you forgot, she was supposed to come with me. And secondly, she isn’t alone, you’re there.”

“When you’re right, you’re right. I suppose I could just take your place. Tell me, Trick, what would you do if you were here?” I could feel Pete’s smile as he rested his cheek against my shoulder, all white teeth and light. It was a perfect charade of innocence and one that Patrick saw through easily. 

“Well, since you asked so very nicely Peter, I definitely wouldn’t be sitting and talking.” There was a knowing smile gracing Patrick’s features, one I had seen many, many times, and it still thrilled me. From what I could tell by the hand that tightened on my hip. The same could be said for Pete. 

“I asked what you would do, Patrick, not what you wouldn’t. Pay attention.” The slightest suggestion of admonishment colored Pete’s words, and he tugged me lightly into his lap, hands immediately slipping back under my shirt. 

“Don’t be impertinent, Peter.” Patrick’s voice was level and his eyes twinkled as he adjusted his glasses and took a long pull of...something; I wasn’t really focused on the bottle in the slightest. “And I would absolutely already have that lovely girl naked. What do you say, Angel?” The question held a bit of apprehension, although I couldn’t quite tell why. Distance, maybe, or how long it seemed to have been. Either way, it was unnecessary. 

“Yes. I say yes.” The words were barely out of my mouth before Pete was pulling my shirt over my head and throwing it aside, absently before dropping his lips to my neck as his fingers slipped up my ribs to tease gently at my breasts. 

“That’s better. Still a bit overdressed though. Charleigh, love? I think those pants should go. And Pete’s as well.” It may have been a suggestion, but it was one that I would never think of denying, nor did I want to. Pete whined as I pulled away from him, wriggling my hips just a bit more than may have been strictly necessary, as I shimmied out of my borrowed pants, dropping them to the floor. I spared a glance to the laptop just in time to catch Patrick’s tongue darting over his bottom lip, desire evident even through the computer screen. Crawling the short distance back to Pete, I met his warm, amber eyes before dropping my hands to the waistband of his pants and giving the slightest of tugs. 

“Goddamn, Sweetheart.” His words were a low groan as his hips lifted and I jerked the apparently offensive garment off, far from fluidly and chucked it at the end of the bed. Pete was, as always, beautiful; all golden-hued skin, and swirling ink, his cock already hard and dark. 

“Good girl, Angel. Pete, you alright?” Patrick seemed concerned as he spoke, and I looked over my shoulder for the briefest of moments, to find him leaning forward, towards the camera, much in the same way that he did in person. 

“I’m fucking Perfect, Trick.” There was an undisguised moan in Pete’s voice, the sound catching as I trailed my fingers teasingly over his prick. “Sweetheart, you keep that up and I swear to god this won’t last long.” 

Patrick chuckled, clear and low. “We can’t have that now, can we? I want to see your faces. Please.” The last word may have seemed like an afterthought coming from anyone else, but it was something different from Patrick, gentle and sweet. Pete’s hand ghosted over my cheek, tugging me in for a kiss, deep with need and promise, as his free fingers pulling through my hair, tugging at the plait until it was loose and hung in waves down my back before he pulled away to catch my gaze. 

“That work for you, Sweetheart?” His request was quiet, just loud enough to be heard, and I nodded mutely, swallowing down the anticipation that shot through me at every touch.

“Good. Hands and knees, Angel? The edge of the bed and facing me please.” I gave a moment’s glance over my shoulder before I moved, catching sight of the open longing on Patrick’s face as I followed his simple directions. I tossed my hair back out of my face once I was settled, glancing up with a smile. Although the laptop was farther away, it wasn’t as though I didn’t have a very clear view of Patrick as he nodded. 

Pete’s honey colored eyes were hungry as he squirmed, the opposite of gracefully across the bed and stood, his hands warm and solid on my hips. 

“Jesus fuck. You two… I am a very fucking lucky man.” Patrick’s voice was just slightly breathy and I could see the slight movement of his arm from where I knelt, his action obvious even though his hand was off-screen. “Don’t hold back.” The words were ones I had heard many times over our time together, although there was an edge this time that I had never noticed before. 

“Never, Trick.” I could hear the smile in Pete’s voice and I spared him a quick look over my shoulder as one hand fell from my hip and stroked slowly over his cock, his head thrown back. He was disarmingly lovely. “You ready, Sweetheart?” The question was low and loaded, my answer falling from my lips as a plea. 

“Please.” I caught the slightest flash of teeth, white and shining in the dull light, before Pete moved, pressing his hips forward to line up exactly where I needed him. He paused, his breathing heavy, as his free hand stroked over the curve of my ass before moving back to my hip and holding tight. 

“Go ahead, Pete.” The permission was not necessary, not here, but it seemed to be what Pete needed, before moving forward at an almost agonizing pace, the slow friction as he slid inside me sending any coherent thoughts skittering away and pulling a moan from my lips. “Fucking perfect.” Patrick’s commentary seemed to echo from the laptop as Pete stilled, his fingers digging into my hips. “Keep going. However you need just, keep going.” There was a familiar, breathy quality to the words and I forced my gaze back to the computer to see Patrick at a different angle. He had set the laptop aside, seemingly on the coffee table, and his head was resting against the arm of the couch, one hand slipped below the waistband of his pajama pants and the other grasping the couch. His gaze, however, didn’t falter. 

“Fuck.” The curse was nearly a whisper although Pete’s voice seeming to echo in the quiet of the room as he moved, slowly, almost teasingly, pulling nearly all the way out before slamming back inside, rocking me forward with a shrill cry of surprise and pleasure. 

“That’s it, Angel, let me hear you.” The direction was the last one that would register before Pete moved again, almost in earnest, pistoning his hips back and forth hard and fast, each thrust seeming to send me reeling. 

I hadn’t realized exactly how much I had needed this, how much I had missed it, between being sick and all of the chaos of the holidays and just after. The closeness, solace and indescribable care that was behind every touch, word, and push were always surprising to me, although there was no reason for it to be. Pete was, for all intents and purposes my husband, save for the pesky legalities, and I loved him in the exact same way as I did Patrick, although it had developed in such a different way. There was still a bit of newness with Pete, this wasn’t something we did often, and that made it all the more poignant. 

Coherent thoughts quickly dissipated as Pete’s hands grasped just a bit harder and his thrusts grew just slightly more erratic, although the force of them, hard and perfect, never faltered. 

“Sweetheart you-I- Goddamn.” The words were broken, fractured by moans and gasping breaths as I closed my eyes, unable to fight it anymore and gave myself over to desire. Submersed in sensation, I could feel myself shaking as Pete pulled me closer and closer to that glorious edge of pleasure. Patrick’s quiet, almost stifled moans drifted through the laptop speakers and I opened my eyes just long enough to catch sight of him, head thrown back and glasses askew, his hand working steadily over his cock that just barely showed at the edge of the frame. I could feel fingers pressing just a bit too hard against my thighs; Pete wasn’t one to tease, not in these moments, and with a hard push of his hips, I lost myself, letting go of whatever tenuous hold I may have had on my composure as my vision whited out and I came with a scream, Pete following behind me with a cry after one, two, three more thrusts. 

My limbs were shaking and they finally gave out as I fell on the bed in an undignified pile of tremors and gasps, Pete joining me quickly, strong arms locked tight as he pulled me, gently and safely, into his lap. It took a moment before I could manage to open my eyes and turn my attention to the laptop. Patrick was wearing a satisfied smile, color high on his cheeks and very obviously post-orgasmic. He was beautiful. 

“You alright, Angel?” I nodded absently, still a bit hazy as I cuddled against Pete’s bare chest, a sticky, panting, trembling, mess and I could feel the laugh in his chest just before he dropped a kiss to my head. 

“You are something else, Charleigh.” There was more love in the words than I could even begin to fathom, especially in my current state of stupefied bliss. Instead of speaking, I nuzzled my face against Pete’s neck with a happy sigh and smiled in the general direction of the laptop. Moving was something that could happen later. 

“Tired, Angel?” There was laughter coloring Patrick’s tone, genuine and sweet, and I nodded sleepily, shoving my bare feet clumsily beneath the edge of the comforter. “You two should get some sleep. I know it isn’t particularly late, but…” The words drifted off on an unsuppressed yawn and this time Pete laughed, the sound vibrating in his chest. 

“I get the feeling you are projecting, Trick, but I can’t blame you. “ Pete spoke around a yawn, pulling me tighter against his chest. “Say goodnight, Sweetheart.” There was the slightest hint of amusement in his voice and I didn’t bother to hide my quiet giggle, embarrassing as it may have been. 

“G’night, Patrick. Thank you. Happy Valentine’s Day.” The words were barely coherent, my head still light, although judging by the grin I received from Patrick, the message had gotten across. 

“Goodnight Angel. You are welcome and I love you. I love both of you.” Patrick’s voice held nothing but honesty and affection and I felt my heart skip out of nothing but sheer happiness, even as I burrowed under the covers slowly, Pete moving me more than I moved myself. 

“Love you too, Trick. Sleep sweet.” The words were muffled by the rustle of down as Pete snuggled in beside me, pulling me close, muttering sweet words against the top of my head while he spoke to Patrick in a fond, tender voice. The conversation was so easy, so familiar, that I could almost forget the miles separating us. I was asleep before the skype call ended.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can find me on AllKindsOfPlatinumAndPercocet on Tumblr. Come say hi, I promise I will only fangirl for a little while.


	49. Chapter Forty Nine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which I am impatient

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this happened. This was not supposed to happen, not yet. I have about five other stories which need updates but these damn kinksters would not shut up. So, I placated them, hopefully, it will help. 
> 
> Comments and questions make the world go round, and kudos are pretty great as well. 
> 
> This is gonna break 180k RIGHT NOW and that is kind of a huge thing for me cause, well... it is far longer than I have ever anticipated. Let's celebrate!
> 
> This has not been betaed, but I have Grammarly so, that may save my ass. 
> 
> As always, for Flames_And_Jade. Sorry this is so out of control. 
> 
> Thank you and endless flailing to SnitchesAndTalkers for the endless support and laughs, it means the world to me. 
> 
> Laudanum_Cafe deserves all of the cinnamon ice cream and coffee for loving these crazy assholes as much as I do, maybe even more so. Cheers, Sweetie Darling. 
> 
> Thank you so, so, SO much to everyone who has taken the time to read this ridiculous tale, Y'all make it worthwhile. 
> 
> Aural Pleasure: 'Will You Still Love Me Tomorrow' by Sweet Talk Radio because.... reasons.

April in Chicago was lovely and, to my not exact surprise, more reminiscent of Boston than I had anticipated. The similarities; sunshine peeking through the clouds, the light chill on the fresh breeze and the smell of the bright green grass in the few spots where it sprung up underfoot brought not only an unexpected wave of nostalgia but emotion as well. I had considered calling my mother but, well, that just didn’t happen. Outwardly, the trip was to spend some of the Easter holidays with family but really, and Pete, Patrick and I were all very aware of this, we all missed Bronte. Patrick’s monthly trips to Chicago had been solo since his Valentine’s visit to close and decorate his house, his home, and Pete and I were beyond antsy to spend time with the girl that had so easily become part of our hearts. 

Madeline had acquiesced somewhat, considering, and while she refused to let Patrick actually keep Bronte overnight on Easter, she did stay the three days before with us in Wilmette and Patrick, Pete and I may have gone a bit overboard with an Easter basket for her. Maybe. Just a little bit. Judging by Madeline’s reaction to the stash of small gifts and not exactly tiny amount of candy that she had gone back to Chicago with, well… moderation was not exactly our forte. Then again, it wasn’t a surprise, at least not on Patrick’s part. He had eleven years to make up for and he was doing it in grand fashion. 

We had actually picked up Bronte on the way from the airport and her animated chatter and bright laughter had filled the halls of the house until we had dropped her off again. She took immense joy in showing us the house, especially her room, which she had decorated in lovely shades of grey, teal, and coral. It was understated but elegant, in a very age-appropriate way, and it fit the girl to a T. The entire place was so very… Patrick, that it was hard to describe it as anything else, but it was also home, in a way that I hadn’t experienced in a very, very long while. 

Dropping her off early was far from ideal, mostly because Pete bitched about being awake before six, even though the coffee was already made and I was pretty sure that he had gotten head in the shower, judging by the sleepy, relaxed grin on his face when he and Patrick had finally made their appearance. Bronte and I were loading up the trunk of the car with parcels and bags, and despite the travel mugs of coffee clasped in both his and Patrick’s hands, he had somehow extracted a promise of breakfast at Bang Bang Pie & Biscuits. Surprisingly it had not taken much convincing for that but also required a promise to Bronte that she could join us next time. 

Madeline had come out to greet us, as was the tradition at this point, and The Good Senator, as was his tradition, stood in the doorway glaring at us. If looks could kill, we would all be six feet under and forgotten by now. Just seeing the man brought with it an unease that was as close to nausea as it could get without the accompanying physical misery. It was more the implications of his presence than actually seeing the man. I knew he spoke to my parents on at least a semi-regular basis, that was actually documented, and I didn’t, especially of late, so he held all of the cards in the situation. 

That same dread hung over breakfast which was objectively lovely. Any excuse for pie before ten AM plus biscuits, granola, candied bacon, grits, and coffee? Always a good thing, but I couldn’t for the life of me shake that nagging feeling that something wasn’t quite right. Breakfast had been lovely, especially out on the small patio table Pete had, as always, managed to finagle. There was no doubt in my mind that he knew someone everywhere in this city, despite living in Vegas for nearly a decade. Pete and Patrick had already drained their coffees and were waiting for me as I finished picking at my biscuit, a terrible waste as the majority of it was crumbled on my plate. 

“You okay, Sweetheart?” There was concern in Pete’s voice, more than a bit, and it was touching. I didn’t hide my small smile as I nodded, pushing my hair back behind my ears before adjusting my sunglasses against the bright glare of the mid-morning sun. Both he and Patrick were looking at me from behind their own shades; although their eyes were hidden I could still feel the familiar weight and I pushed back the thoughts that had been plaguing me since we had left the expansive Duchossois home. 

“I’m okay, just not enough caffeine yet.” I gave what I hoped was a convincing smile as I lifted my bag onto my shoulder and pushed up from my chair. That convincing smile was not nearly enough, however, not by a long shot. The wave of dizziness came out of nowhere, washing over me in a cold, frightening moment as my vision when fuzzy and flashes of white burst behind my closed eyelids. I could feel myself falling but I couldn’t do a thing to stop it. Reaching behind me blindly, I felt my hand graze the metal chair before it skittered to the side and the ground seemed to rush up to meet me. Somewhere, past the blood that was rushing in my ears, I could hear Pete and Patrick’s worried voices, along with the gasps of the happy families that just wanted to eat their breakfast. 

“Charleigh. Charleigh, look at me, honey. Are you okay?” There was something in Patrick’s voice that I had never heard before and it scared me more than anything else; panic. Nodding my heavy head, I squeezed my eyes shut against the tears that pricked behind them, starburst of royal blue and vivid purple flashing against the darkness. 

“Sweetheart.” Pete’s voice was just as close as Patrick’s and I opened my eyes, although my vision was still fuzzy, both from tears that welled in them and that… whatever it had been, to find them both crouching beside me, worry on both of their faces. 

“I’m okay. I’m alright.” My voice was far from convincing and I heard the concerned mumbles of the people around us, questions of calling nine-one-one. “I’m okay, just a little dizzy. Can we just… I want to go home. Please. I’m just tired. Please?” I was trying not to cry, my cheeks warm with embarrassment as I tugged futilely at the scarf that was looped around my neck. It for decoration rather than warmth, but I was just far too warm and I wanted it off. 

“Okay, okay. Breathe Angel, come on, breathe for me.” The worry was still evident in Patrick’s voice, but not as prevalent, instead, the smooth, deep tone that was almost exclusively used within the walls of Flame took over and I dropped my hands, doing as I was requested as his nimble fingers untied and pulled my scarf off without question. “That’s a good girl. In and out. Pete went to get the car, We can go home, but we are calling my mom on the way alright? Don’t even try to argue this one. Can you stand up?” I gave another nod, sniffling rather pathetically, and braced myself on the cool concrete before very, very carefully rising to my feet, Patrick’s hands warm and familiar around my waist. 

“Okay, okay. I’m alright.” My voice was shaky and there was still a strange, almost fizzy feeling in my head, not fuzzy per se, as things were clear as they could be with my vision, but almost… bubbly, as though I’d been dunked headfirst into a glass of champagne. It was not a pleasant feeling. 

“Can you walk, Sweetheart?” Pete was back in a flash, or what seemed like one. Not bothering to wait for an answer, he picked me up easily and headed towards the car, while Patrick, I am sure, made sure to let the small group of worried staff know that everything was okay. He was good like that. 

“Thank you.” My voice was small, almost unbearably so as I mumbled against Pete’s shoulder, grasping at the light jacket that he wore. 

“No thanks needed, Sweetheart. Let’s just get you home, okay? We can call Mama P on the way and maybe she can give us some advice cause I know you won’t go to the ER, not even if Patrick insisted.” There was the slightest hint of a smile in his words and my voice cracked as I forced a small laugh. 

“When you’re right, you’re right.” Pete chuckled at the statement and carefully deposited me into the passenger seat of the car before leaning the seat all the way back. He had, to many protests I am sure, taken the keys from Patrick and was in the driver’s seat before Patrick had even returned to the car. I relaxed into the seat, the soft leather warm beneath me and closed my eyes against the fizziness that still lingered, and the headache that started to grow behind my eyes. I was asleep before we were even moving. 

When I woke up again, the room was fairly dark and there was rain spattering angrily against the windows as thunder rolled outside. I was confused fuzzy headed and I really wanted to pee. I was also alone, which made no sense. As I blinked away the last vestiges of sleep, I struggled to remember how I had gotten here, because I knew I hadn’t been alone when I had laid down. I’d woken briefly when we arrived back at the house, just enough to change from my jeans and blouse into an old t-shirt of Pete’s and crawl into the bed, my head pounding as I tugged both Pete and Patrick with me, wedging myself between them and quickly falling fast asleep again. I was awake, uncomfortable and achy, but awake, and very much alone in the bed.

“Charleigh?” Patrick’s voice was quiet and I could make out his familiar form in the small chair beside the window, a book in his hands as he read by light that was far too dim. 

“That’s bad for your eyes. And hi.” My voice was heavy and my tongue thick with sleep, but the observation obviously amused him, because I could hear a soft chuckle as he set his book aside and crossed the room, settling beside me on what had become his side of the bed. 

“Hi, Angel. How are you feeling?” There was genuine concern in his voice as his fingers nimbly brushed my sleep-tangled hair from my eyes. 

“I’m okay. My head hurts a bit and I have no idea what time it is, but I am okay. A bit fuzzy maybe, but that will fade. “ I was honest, maybe more than I should have been, but sleep had weakened whatever filter that I may have had. 

“Here, Sweetheart.” Pete plopped down gently beside me, the comforter rustling as he kissed my head and offered a bottle of water out without another word. Smiling in thanks, I accepted it and cracked the cap, draining nearly half of it in a single go. Apparently, I was thirsty. 

“Thank you. I’m sorry about everything I am just… Not enough sleep, maybe?” I was at a loss and sat feeling especially small in the large bed, even with two men I loved more than I thought was possible on either side of me. 

“First of all, don’t apologize, you know it isn’t needed. And second, well, I called my mom.” Patrick sounded nervous again, and I didn’t like it, not even in the slightest.

“What did she say?” I tried to hide the worry that seeped into my voice as I caught the glance that Patrick sent to Pete before running his hands through his hair.

“It could be a dozen things, and mom is a nurse, not a doctor but she has been doing this for nearly thirty years, she knows a thing or two and she had a few ideas.” Patrick was nervous, really and truly nervous like I had only seen him a handful of times before. My stomach dropped and I looked over at Pete. 

“What did she say?” There was a quiver in my voice that I couldn’t seem to fight no matter how hard I tried. Pete’s eyes were warm and soft, and he gave my hand a soft squeeze as Patrick took the other one. That didn’t help the panic that was forming, solid and heavy in my stomach “What did she say?”

“It’s alright, Sweetheart, just breathe for a second, it’s okay. It isn’t anything… well, okay, it’s not necessarily bad, but it is definitely better than it could be. I mean comparatively speaking. She had a few questions that we couldn’t answer but she said that there is an almost endless number of reasons you could have fainted, anything from your blood sugar to just standing up too fast but she wants you to see a doctor just to be sure. She gave Patrick the names of a few in the area that she trusts and are taking new patients.” Pete talked quickly, as was his wont, glancing over at Patrick every now and then. 

“What aren’t you saying?” Patrick dropped his head, the flush on his cheeks visible even in the dim light and Pete shifted, not uncomfortably beside me, but obviously at a bit of a loss, which was almost more worrying. ‘Pete, please? What did she say?” I could feel tears pricking my eyes again, and I blinked them back as Patrick pressed a kiss against my forehead. 

“Easy, Angel. It’s okay. She thought you should take a pregnancy test.” Patrick’s words were quiet and gentle as always, but they echoed in my head as dates spun through my mind and I came up with nothing. It wasn’t even that I couldn’t remember specifically; there was just nothing at all. 

“I know you aren’t regular, Sweetheart but it’s been a while. Do you have any clue when the last time was?” Pete’s voice was soft, almost tender as he spoke, giving my hand a gentle squeeze. 

“It was… ah, I think a bit before I got sick, they always ask at the doctor’s office and I just… I can’t remember.” My voice shook again as I tried, very much in vain, to remember specific dates, to absolutely no avail. 

“So, at least two and a half months ago. Maybe just… I picked up a test while you were asleep, two of them actually because I have no clue which one is the best…” Pete was uncharacteristically soft-spoken, almost reserved and I just nodded, still trying desperately to figure out when in the hell my last period was. It was beyond futile at this point and I just nodded, my hair falling back in my face as my bladder screamed at me. 

“I think I can- I should go and do that.” My voice sounded hollow, even to me and Pete draped an arm over my shoulders, pulling me in close for just a moment before hopping up and stepping aside so I could get out of bed. 

“Whatever happens, we love you, Angel. And we can figure it out, okay?” There was so much earnest sincerity in Patrick’s voice that I couldn’t help but believe him, even if I couldn’t say as much. All of this nodding was not doing a thing to help my headache, but I repeated the motion again, my tongue heavy in my mouth as I stumbled over my words, finally. 

“I know, I do. And I love you too, both of you.” Although they were nothing but true, I had a hard time getting them out through a mouth gone dry with nerves. Pete and Patrick didn’t seem to mind the ridiculousness as I slipped from the bed, missing the warmth immediately, and headed towards the en-suite bathroom, closing the door behind me. 

The boxes sat out of place on the vanity, the purple lettering almost obscene against the soft whites and greys that dominated the space. It felt heavy in my hand as I picked it up, squinting in the low light to read the directions on the back even though they were nearly screamed from every other surface on the box. Uncap. Pee. Wait. Read. They were the easiest ones, no lines to deal with, just one word or two, there was still the not knowing. 

My hands shook as I struggled with the well-sealed cardboard, finally opening it and tossing the packaging into the trash. It seemed wasteful, that much of a box for such a small product. Then again, in my shaking hands, that stick could have weighed fifty pounds and it wouldn’t have been any different. 

Trying to pee on command and aim while you shook like a leaf was never a skill that I never considered, although it was one I never knew I would need. Unfortunately, I was also not very good at it because I definitely peed on my hand. It was the least of my concerns, however, as I set the little stick face down on the counter and washed up before leaving the bathroom on shaky legs. Pete and Patrick stood, side by side, with almost identical expressions of both curiosity and concern, although the former was far more prevalent. 

“Three minutes. Well, that’s what it says, anyway.” My voice, traitorous as it was, shook and I couldn’t hide my small smile at the arms that were outstretched to me. Stepping into the shared embrace was comforting in a way that I couldn’t describe. 

“You know, whatever happens, it will be alright, don’t you Angel?” Patrick’s words were muffled against my cheek, his breath warm. 

“We’ll figure it all out, Sweetheart, I promise.” I smiled at Pete’s statement, knowing with all that I was that each and every word was nothing but true. 

“I’m not afraid of what will happen, per se, I just… I haven’t ever thought about it before, honestly and it’s… What if it’s positive? What if I end up like my mother? What if I can’t do this? What if-” 

“Shhhh, come on, Sweetheart, just breathe. There are a million what ifs here, but all that matters, honestly the only thing in this entire fucking world that either of us give a flying fuck about right now, is that you are okay. I’d be lying if I didn’t say I had a little hope because, Jesus Charleigh, you would be perfect, but we can figure all of that out. There is time.” Pete was, as tended to happen in moments of emotional turmoil for me, the voice of reason, soothing and sweet as he brushed his hand over my hair. 

“I know we haven’t discussed it but would you want kids, Angel?” Patrick seemed quieter than usual, almost reserved beyond his usual composure, and I twisted to look at him, tugging my lip between my teeth as I weighed the question. 

It wasn’t something I had ever considered, not really. My focus had always been on my career and school, in some form or another, from the time I was seventeen. I had seen the family I had grown up in and, while my parents had tried, kind of, they hadn’t been the right people for a child. They loved me, but… always but. Seeing Patrick and Bronte was the one thing that had maybe made me pause, even for a moment, although it had just been a passing fancy, or so I had thought. Now, standing between Pete and Patrick, while a piece of urine covered plastic sat just feet away waiting to possibly change all of our lives, I spoke without thinking, not entirely unaware of the glint of hope in both pairs of eyes that I met. 

“Only with you two. I can’t imagine even thinking about them with anyone else, but with us, I think so. I just… it’s a lot.” My laughter was nervous but the smile that I caught a quick glimpse of was bright and reassuring as I was pulled against Patrick’s chest in a warm embrace, Pete’s lips back against my head. 

“Thank you, Angel. We can still talk but. Thank you.” 

“I’m pretty sure it has been three minutes, Sweetheart. Did you want to check?” Pete sounded eager in a way that I hadn’t expected and, at the same time, knew he would. 

“Can you? Please?” The response was immediate, I didn’t think for even a moment before speaking, my voice trembling. 

“Of course.” Another kiss against my head and Pete’s warmth was gone, although I could tell by Patrick’s gaze that there was something unspoken passing between them as Pete headed back towards the bathroom. 

“We’ll get through this, Charleigh. You know that, right? Whatever that means.” Patrick spoke softly, sweetly, while his hand found mine and squeezed. The cool metal of his wedding ring was comforting against my overheated skin, as I shifted to lean into his side and face the door that seemed to loom across the room. 

“I do.” The two words, echoes of ones that had been spoken not even four months ago were brief but somehow perfect in this moment. “I thi-” I stopped cold as Pete reappeared in the doorway and the room went silent, save for the storm that raged outside.

“Pete?” Patrick spoke softly, almost a whisper in the quiet, and I swallowed thickly, my throat dry as we both looked at Pete. His expression gave absolutely nothing away, not even for a moment, and I felt my heart sink at the lack of news that I hadn’t even known I wanted to hear. 

Pete didn’t say anything, not a single word and I grasped Patrick’s hand tighter, my free hand twisting in the hem of the shirt I wore, old and soft, with a faded Metallica logo on the front. 

“Peter, wha-” This time it was Patrick that was cut off as Pete fell to his knees, hitting the polished hardwood with a painful sounding thump as his arms wrapped around my waist and his cheek was flat against my stomach. I could barely feel the nod of his head before what he hadn’t said actually processed, and the tears that I had been fighting to keep at bay all day sprang free. They weren’t sad or fearful though, not even in the slightest. In that moment there was nothing but love and a joy that I couldn’t even begin to comprehend, as Patrick finally spoke again, his voice thick with emotion. 

“I think what Pete is trying to say, without actually speaking, is that we are having a baby, Angel.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can find me at AllKindsOfPlatinumAndPercocet on Tumblr if you want to say hi.


	50. Chapter Fifty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A time jump and an unexpected visit are always good, right?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wow. Hey. It's been a while. Sorry about that. I've been struggling with these folks for a while, although I don't know why. Actually, I have been struggling with all my stories, SO. BUT this finally, finally happened, so that is a start. 
> 
> Comments, kudos and questions make the world go round, Y'all. Please. 
> 
> This hasn't been beta'd but the amazing Laudanum_Cafe kindly read it over before I published because she loves me. Grammarly is my friend. 
> 
> This is on the short side but it is a start, I think? I hope. 
> 
> As always, this is for Flames_And_Jade. I adore you. 
> 
> Endless thanks and all of the love I have in my shriveled little heart to SnitchesAndTalkers, Laudanum_Cafe, Das_Verlorene_Kind and Scmi_sweet for the endless support, handholding, and idea bouncing. You raise me up. 
> 
> Thank you so much to everyone who is reading this sprawling tale, I hope you enjoy. 
> 
> Aural Satisfaction: 'Church' by Fall Out Boy. Because of reasons.

“So fucking beautiful. Look at him, Sweetheart. Come on, open your eyes.” Pete’s voice was low and husky, his breath damp against my neck as I gasped, slowly coming down from my orgasmic high. It was surreal, for just a moment, laying in the bed in my apartment pressed tightly against Pete’s bare chest, my feet on either side of his knees while Patrick rested his cheek against my thigh, hair a mess, eyes twinkling and lips slick and shining.   
Pete’s fingers were twisted in mine, our wedding rings cool against heated skin and I smiled as Patrick wriggled back before pushing up on his knees. He moved quickly, with an easy grace and knotted tangled his hand in Pete’s hair before drawing him in for a kiss, wet and deep. I could hear the stifled moans as they pulled apart, Pete hard against my lower back.   
"I've wanted to do that since our first phone call, Angel." Patrick's voice is soft and his thumb strokes tenderly over my cheek while Pete's hand wanders over the very prominent curve of my belly. 

"That's not all you wanted to do." Pete is smiling, I can feel it, easy and real against my neck. 

"True. If you fucking behave, maybe I can see that second part." There is a lightness to Patrick's voice that contrasts with the heady desire in his eyes and his obvious erection; I can't help but laugh.

"I'm going to go get cleaned up really quickly, dinner will be here soon. You two have fun." There is a lightness in my voice that is at odds with my movements as I climb out of bed, naked and warm. My body had always been something I had been so sure of, a constant and a career, but now nearly seven months pregnant, I felt awkward and almost uncomfortable in my own skin. That feeling was always, always dispelled quickly by my husbands who were quick with not only verbal assurances but physical as well, which was how we had ended up in my bed in the first place.

I ignored the mirror as I passed, more out of habit than anything and climbed into the shower to the sounds of moans from the next room. It was unusual, in a strange way, to be back here, but it was still home, in a strange way as much as Patrick’s apartment and the house in Chicago were, although not for long. We were actually here for a purpose, as amusing as it was. Brendon’s lease was up and I had an apartment that I owned but was sitting empty so I was packing all of my various personal items for storage.   
I took my time showering, relaxing under the familiar spray and luxuriating in the suds before rinsing off and stepping out, wrapped tightly in the plush towels that were missing the heat that I had grown accustomed to at Patrick’s. Dressing quickly, I tug one of Pete’s old t-shirts on, pulling it down over my very, very prominent bump and wriggle into a pair of jeans before shrugging into Patrick’s discarded cardigan and shoving the sleeves up to my elbows. It was more for comfort than warmth; the soft, well-worn cotton held traces of familiar cologne and Patrick that seemed to calm me more than anything else in the world, the same way that Pete’s shirt did. The doorbell ringing echoed through the apartment got me moving faster than my usual crawl of late and I couldn’t help but smile as I passed through the bedroom, appreciating the tangle of caramel and cream skin that stood out against the sage green sheets. The moans that had been so prominent while I showered had faded to labored breaths in the aftermath and lazy, sated smiles graced beautiful faces. They were pretty near perfect.   
“Sorry for the wait we weren’t expecting you for another half hou-” The person on the other side of the door was not dinner, not even close. My mother stood there, navy suit impeccable as always, although she did not look pleased to see me, in the slightest. “Hi, Mom.” My voice was tiny, almost broken in the two words that I managed to utter, shifting my weight from foot to foot, an old, nervous habit that I thought I had kicked. My mother didn’t say a word, but then again she didn’t have to; her appraising gaze was trained in my belly even as her mouth opened and snapped shut again.   
“May I come in, Charleigh James?” There was no warmth in my mother’s voice and I nodded, stepping back and pulling the door open so she could pass. She did not sit down. The gentle snick of the door clicking shut seemed to echo through the apartment and I was suddenly colder than I had been in a very, very long time.   
“I was hoping that Robert was just talking out of his ass.” The words seemed almost an afterthought as my mother shook her head, her perfectly coiffed blonde twist not moving in the slightest. “Charleigh, I- what in the hell are you thinking?” She was pacing now, her shoes clicking on the hardwood and hands twisted into her pockets. “You know what? It doesn’t matter. You need to come home, as soon as you can. Your father has a position in the office for you and once this mess is cleared up things can be good again. Your father, Jesus Charleigh didn’t you think about how this would look? I can’t imagine what you were thinking. You know better.”  
“Charleigh?” Patrick’s voice is quiet and close and Pete’s hand is warm on my lower back. Fighting back the tears that stung my eyes, I glanced over my shoulder, even the sight of Patrick and Pete bringing me some calm, such as it is. They were both shirtless, jeans hastily undone and hair still a tangled mess; it was obvious what had been going on.   
My mother, to her credit, did not look at all shocked, although there was a slight widening of her eyes. “Mr. Stump, Mr. Wentz, it’s a pleasure to see you again.” My mother was a fantastic liar, it came with the territory, but not even all her practice got her through this and it was always.   
“Mrs. Gabriel.” There was a very noticeable coldness in Patrick’s voice and his haze bounced between my mother and Pete.   
“Ma’am.” While Patrick was cold, Pete was downright hostile, a fact that did not go unnoticed by my mother who bristled noticeably.   
“Gentlemen.” The word in itself was a brush off, and not a subtle one although there was some vague realization as she returned her gaze to me.   
“You know, I can understand what you are doing, Cricket, and I think it is so wonderful but you need to come home and settle down once all this is over.” The tone of her voice gave very little room for argument but also made almost no sense; I wasn’t the only one who thought so.   
“What exactly is it that she is doing, Mrs. Gabriel?” Patrick was, as always, polite, but the hardness in his voice was evident and very, very rare.   
“Well, all of this.” She punctuated the statement, casual as can be, with a gesture towards my swollen middle. “As misguided as it may be, I know that it comes from a good place. Now, Charleigh, when you come home we can-”  
“I’m sorry, Charlene, but what in the fuck are you talking about?” Pete was not bothering with kindness, and my mother looked appropriately shocked.   
“Well, your baby. I mean… it’s completely selfless, of course, which has always been Charleigh’s wont.” She was flat up ignoring Pete and Patrick at this point, her gaze fixed solely on me. “Once you have the baby you can come home. Maybe we can spin this for the media eventually. Now, do you remember Eric Greene? He’s still single you know, and very open-minded, I know that he wouldn’t have any issues with your little jaunt. I’ll have to give him a call and-”  
“Mom! What are you talking about? I’m not- why are you here?” My voice was louder than usual and seemed to snap her out of whatever mental tangent she was going on.   
“Well, I- Robert Duchossois called me and he had some very interesting tales to tell so I wanted to come check on you myself. I-we miss you, Charleigh.” The honesty in her voice was obvious, at least in the last words, and I blinked back the tears that were threatening to spill down my cheeks. “I just… come home, Cricket. We can put this all behind us, I know we can. In time, once you have a real family you’ll-” I didn’t hear anything after that, as the sob, I had been struggling to keep hidden slipped out and I clasped my hand over my mouth. Pete’s arms were around my waist immediately and I turned into him, hiding my face against the bare skin of his shoulder.   
“Mrs. Gabriel with all due respect, which in this case is exactly none, until you can learn to respect my wife and our family, all of our family, you need to get the fuck out.” I could hear Patrick faintly, that hardness that was only reserved for Gabriel and Richard up until now, and I couldn’t stop the fresh tears that fell.   
“Excuse me, your-” My mother was outraged, her voice dripping with her Georgia lilt and I could just picture the look on her face.   
“No. No excuses. You are not welcome here. I will be happy to help you if needed, but I suggest you leave on your own.”   
“Well, I never. Goodnight, Charleigh James.” There was the faintest tap of heels on hardwood before the door opened and closed, the lock clicking behind it and she was gone, leaving a trace of Chanel No. 5 and hurt in her wake.  
Pete’s arms were tight around me as I wept against his chest and, in a blink, Patrick we behind me, his lips warm on my head as he whispered sweet, reassuring nothings against my head as I fell to pieces.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can always be found at AllKindsOfPlatinumAndPercocet on Tumblr if you want to chat! Come and say hey, I promise I don't bite.


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